


Breaker of Chains

by DanyKinkFic



Series: Breaker of Chains [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ASoIaF Kink Meme, Adultery, Aegon VI has a severe undiagnosed peanut allergy, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Male Character, Breeding, Canon Bisexual Character, Canon Continuation, Cock & Ball Torture, Cock Cages, Cuckolding, Cunnilingus, D/s, Dany has mild OCD and is left handed and beats people for fun, Dom/sub, Dominant Female Character, Dominatrix, Domme Dany, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Femdom, Femslash, Foot Fetish, Forced Intoxication, Forced Orgasms, Graphic Description, Guilt, Hate Sex, Healthy Femdom, Human Ashtray, Incest, Jonerys, Lesbian Sex, Masochism, Master/Servant, Multi, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Original Character Death(s), Pegging, Polyamory, Porn With Plot, Power Play, Prostate Massage, Prostate Milking, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rope Bondage, S&M, Sadism, Secret Relationship, Service Submission, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Violence, Skull Fucking, Slight Canon Divergence, Sperm competition-look it up, Strap-Ons, Submission, Submissive Female Character, Submissive Male Character, Threesome - F/F/M, awkward jon, first bisexual experience, first fanfic, male chastity, smoking fetish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 07:56:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 111,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8319958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanyKinkFic/pseuds/DanyKinkFic
Summary: Story centers around Daenerys discovering, relishing, and grappling with a sexually dominant streak that at times crosses into sadism, with a political intrigue plot as well.





	1. Daenerys I

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t respond to “why do you hate Jon Snow” comments. I don’t hate Jon Snow. He’s a fictional character, as is Dany. Not everyone will get turned on by this story, but if you read it and perceive a personal attack by me (a stranger) on you (a stranger) and/or your masculinity, sexuality, worldview, or whatever, I suggest you press the “Home” button on your browser, take a deep breath, and examine that internally, rather than fire off a comment that will inevitably get deleted without a response.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I know that she spent her childhood in exile, impoverished, living on dreams and schemes, running from one city to the next, always fearful, never safe, friendless but for a brother who was by all accounts half-mad … a brother who sold her maidenhood to the Dothraki for the promise of an army. I know that somewhere out upon the grass her dragons hatched, and so did she. I know she is proud. How not? What else was left her but pride? I know she is strong. How not? The Dothraki despise weakness. If Daenerys had been weak, she would have perished with Viserys. I know she is fierce. Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen are proof enough of that. She has crossed the grasslands and the red waste, survived assassins and conspiracies and fell sorceries, grieved for a brother and a husband and a son, trod the cities of the slavers to dust beneath her dainty sandaled feet."_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> \--Tyrion, _A Dance With Dragons_

Dany coiled the whip in her hand and took the washcloth from the handmaiden’s mouth, watching as she gasped and fought hopelessly against the chains. _So beautiful_ , Dany thought, as she paced around to face the girl, inspecting her work as she went. She loved how Irri's body twisted and writhed like a fish caught in a net; how she tried in vain to free herself from the chains that held her arms above her head from the ceiling in Dany's bedchamber. The poor thing had no idea how long it would be until the washcloth would go back in, how many more screams it would muffle that night, or what the Mother of Dragons would do to her in the mean time.

“How many was that?” Dany asked, in the same tone she would use to ask what was for breakfast.  

“Twenty, _Khaleesi_. May I please have more?” Irri knew the routine, and had learned long ago not to miss a beat.

"Do you mock me, cunt?" Dany dug a thumbnail into her nipple, hard, and watched Irri suck her breath through her teeth as her face contorted.  _Come on, come on, come on. Just a little more. Serve your_ Khaleesi _. Suffer for her_. Dany knew just when to stop, or so she'd told herself.  _I’m not my brother. I’m not. I give this slut what she needs, but no more. Viserys didn’t know when to stop. He didn’t care. I do. She's mine_. She eased up her grip, preferring not to dwell on whether the things she told herself were true. Irri let out a grunt of relief.

Dany grabbed her under the jaw and pressed her forehead against Irri's. "Or is that as high as you can count?” She gave Irri’s nipple a one last tug and backhanded her across the face. Irri would have been able to hold in the tears had Her Grace deigned to remove her rings. “Or maybe you're just stupid and insolent both.” Dany slapped her again, from the other direction, and again with a backhand so hard that the gems in the rings would have broken her cheekbone had they landed an inch higher. This time, she was numb to the sting. 

Irri was a bright girl who always did as she was bid without a hint of insolence, and they both knew it. Were Dany's blood not running so hot tonight, she would have nothing but praise for her sweet handmaiden.  _She knows I don’t mean it. She must know that by now_. Dany scared herself in moments like this, but moments like this had grown more frequent since she took the Iron Throne.

“I’m sorry, _Khaleesi_.I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Irri blubbered out between sobs. 

“It was one and twenty."  _I think._

"Thank you _Khaleesi_ , may I please have more?" 

"You may.”  _I'm going to hurt her again._ The thought made her wet, but filled her with guilt. _But I cannot ask this of anyone else. Irri is blood of my blood.  Aegon would not understand this_.

As a husband, Aegon gave her no cause to complain. He was kind, dutiful, and not without skill as a lover, though he was no Drogo or Daario. But the gods saw fit to bind them together, so she played her part as best she could.  _Since when is Tyrion Lannister a god_? Her marriage to Aegon was an act of governance; an arrangement Tyrion had brokered at Storm’s End with her Unsullied at the gates and Aegon's Golden Company waiting inside. She had wanted to burn the castle, and was mounting Drogon to do just that when Tyrion stopped her.

“Why bring dragons if not to use them?” She argued, her deep purple eyes wroth with no pretense otherwise. 

“Your Grace, if we’re to be sacking cities in Westeros we need Westerosi men, and the Golden Company is the finest batch you’re like to get. Aegon will be useful for winning lords and smallfolk to your side as well. One silver-haired conqueror is a ghost from the dark days of the past. A relic to be thrown back into the sea. Two silver-haired conquerors are a dynasty, coming to sweep their Realm clean of all the rats and vagrants. Make common cause with him. If he’s your Mummer’s Dragon, he at least comes from a very good mummer.”

“I was warned not to trust him, and I don’t. I want his head.” 

“Then take it, _after_ you’ve used the hair and eyes to claim your birthright.” Dany often chafed at Tyrion's pragmatism, but it had saved her more than once.  _The man has a vexing habit of being right_. 

She would have preferred to marry her nephew Jon, but her Lord Hand had counseled against that, too. It seemed all but certain after Second War for Dawn, when the two of them together were all that had prevented death itself from consuming the Realms of Men. But Tyrion warned her that Jon’s claim was just as strong as hers, and his feats in the war just as great. "Only a fool," said Tyrion, "would invite a threat like Jon into her bedchamber."  

Tyrion said nothing of what to do if she were invited to his, however, so as her army sat at Castle Black resupplying for the long march south, Dany and her nephew spent a fortnight acquainting themselves in the traditional Targaryen fashion. Dany rather enjoyed Jon, and may well have grown to love him if she’d had more time. _The boy devoured my cunt like he’d been living on acorn paste for months_ , which he had been. _Other places, too_. Meanwhile, their respective Hands worked day and night on the pact that would bring peace to the Realm for the first time since the War of the Five Kings. There would be no such devouring of anything between those two.

Dany liked Davos Seaworth, and would have taken him into her service if he weren't sworn to Jon. He was a kindly man; like Ser Barristan, but gruffer, and Ser Jorah, but less beaten down by a life of regrets. _If I kissed him on the cheek, he would not wring his hands about vows and protocol, nor forget himself and stare slack-jawed at my teats like they just asked him for three coppers and a groat._   

But the Onion Lord learned statecraft from Stannis Baratheon, and if the tales were true, Stannis Baratheon would not have cared much for a friendly kiss on the cheek from the silver-haired Queen he had sailed to Dragonstone to murder in the crib. And like his former liege, Davos gave not a mummer’s fart about the subtle dance of diplomacy and compromise. 

Tyrion began the negotiations with an entirely reasonable offer: Jon would bend the knee in exchange for near total rule over the North, five thousand of the Queen’s finest men under his sole command to keep the peace, no taxes until the rebuilding effort was complete, and four million gold dragons from the Crown, with no obligation to repay. He spoke to Davos like the high lord he was, and spoke to him of laws and precedents, of the subtleties of what men really mean when they speak of "owning" property. He showed the Onion Lord the same courtesies he would for a Tyrell, or a Martell, or a Baelish. But Davos at his core was none of those. He was still the roughspun peasant from Flea Bottom who put his duty to feed his family above some noble’s proclamation of what the law ought to be. Dany liked that. The charm was lost on Tyrion.

“I don’t know what half of the shite you just said is supposed to mean,” Davos replied to Tyrion's first offer, “but the boy is King in the North, and he’ll stay that way." 

Tyrion countered with generous tariff concessions. 

"That’s why the gods make smugglers. We’ve already got our tariff concessions.” The lion may be a fearsome beast, but the onion had planted its roots in the ground and would move for no one.

"He wants the North for himself, so let him have it,” Tyrion finally advised her, from his bed, his head aching after a final, failed attempt to ply Lord Davos with strongwine. “King in the North, Warden of the North, it means naught. Every man, woman, and child north of the Neck will worship him no matter what you do, so let him rule from Winterfell and style himself the Emperor of Yi Ti if he pleases. If you bring him to King’s Landing, he will only start to covet the Iron Throne while the North breaks apart in his absence. He will still need coin and men and food from the south to rebuild, so he is still yours no matter what the pact says.”

And so it was done. Now, here she stood, her dynasty in the hands of a man who may well be an impostor, her own blood claiming a piece of her birthright for his own, her days spent making up for her years spent in exile by watching her Lord Hand strike bargains like a master armorer struck an anvil. For a man who had once fled this city in a crate with a bounty on his head, Tyrion took to the Handship like the others had merely been warming his chair. He knew the history of nearly every House; who hated whom; each lord’s true motivations; who would respond most favorably to which kinds of flattery. And what he didn’t know, he would sniff out like a hound. Dany tried to absorb it all, and she was learning quickly, but without Tyrion, she worried she would be nearly as lost as when she first held court in the Great Pyramid of Meereen.

The thought made her chest tighten. "Power resides where men believe it resides," Tyrion told her once, "and the Realm believes it resides in a large, prickly chair." When she sat that chair she felt paralyzed, helpless, always at the mercy of others and what they wanted from her.  _Power should reside where I say it does_. She was angry now.

Dany lifted Irri’s chin up and met her gaze. Dany spoke softly. Raising her voice was not necessary. Irri was well-terrified by now."Do you want to learn how to count, or do you want to be the feeble-minded slut you were when Illyrio dumped you at my feet like nightsoil in a gutter?“ Dany loved this girl like the sister she never had, and would go through all seven hells for her if she needed, but when her blood ran hot she was consumed by a need to hurt, debase, and control that could not be stopped.  _Her life is too comfortable. I’m showing her what she is_.

"Please teach me, _Khaleesi_. Please. Please. I want to learn. Please."  _She’s running out of words. It will be over soon_. More oft than not, Irri forgot all her words by the end, save "please."

"Good,” Dany said calmly. “You need this.”

Irri nodded and muttered something that started as fervent agreement but melted into a sob. Dany had planned to simply start back to whipping her, but something stopped her. She stepped back, sat herself on the bed, and touched between her legs, struck by the sight of this precious, broken girl. She had seen men suffer like this before; in her dungeons, in the Plaza of Punishment in Astapor, but never by her own hands. She cared not a fig for the slavers and criminals and traitors, but seeing it happen to slaves and innocents had utterly disgusted her and started her on the mission that would define her life, that the singers now called the Great Liberation. But this was different. It was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen.  _I’ve sentenced men to death for doing this to strangers, yet I do it to a girl with as pure a heart as I have ever known, who has served me since I was a child, and I touch myself as she cries_. A wet spot had grown on the sheet, and her cunt was almost pulsing as she slid two fingers as deep as they would go, got up again, squeezed Irri’s jaw open, and put them in her mouth. 

“Suck.”  The girl pressed her lips around Dany’s fingers and closed her eyes. Dany could see her mind going blank. She slumped as much as the chains would let her and suckled like a babe at her mother's teat. Some nights, that was enough. Tonight was no such night.  _Half-hearted_. Dany pushed her fingers deeper and pressed down on the girl’s tongue until her eyes widened and she started to gag. “Not good enough.” She spat in her face. “Get it right or I’ll keep you here until you piss yourself.”

It would not have been the first time. Dany was fond of forcing all manner of liquids down Irri's sweet, helpless throat and torturing her until there was a good healthy puddle to lick up. Tonight it was an empty threat, though. Lord Tyrion had business with her. Real business. Business for the Queen, not the demon she had let out to play. Irri knew that too, but Dany studied the girl’s face for any hint of fear that Dany would simply leave her bound and gagged while she and Tyrion ignored her and discussed matters of state.  _I want you always wondering what I’m capable of, sweetling_. Irri finally got it right and sucked like the good slut she tried so hard to be. Dany removed her fingers, took the washcloth, and wiped some of the wetness off of her thighs so the taste would fill the girl’s mouth for the rest of the beating.

The skin on Irri’s back was bright red, and the whip would break it soon. It had become a ritual that when the blood started trickling down, Dany would lick it straight from the wound, kiss her on the mouth, dispense with the smallclothes and grind her cunt against Irri's thigh like a feral dog until she was finished. If she was feeling generous, she would let Irri do the same, as long as she licked up every bit of her savage mongrel filth afterward. Once the girl was bleeding, Dany was no longer so enraptured by the game they played. In her mind she would see Viserys with his golden crown, and her father’s lifeless body on the floor of the Throne Room. A crippling shame would wash over her if only for half a heartbeat.  _The father will judge me justly for this, just like my father and brother and my whole wretched family_.

This time was no different. Once Dany was sated, she removed the chains, grabbed the sweet Dothraki girl before she could collapse onto the floor, and helped her to a chair by the brazier. As Irri wiped the tears from her eyes, Dany brought her a flagon of wine and a clean rag to wipe off the blood, as if she had suddenly become the handmaiden. Dany never apologized for nights like this, but her face showed more than a hint of guilt. 

“Are you hurt?” She asked, sitting down across from her.

"Not badly, _Khaleesi_.”

“You should dress yourself, Lord Tyrion will be here soon." Dany wondered if Irri found this part as uncomfortable as she did. Neither of them had ever truly known how to manage the return to normalcy. Dany took great pains to treat the girl as kindly as she could, and Irri never forgot her courtesies, but it always felt false. _She fears me. She thinks less of me. She has so much she wants to say but she fears to say it._ But she couldn’t ask the girl to speak. To apologize or explain or ask her feelings on the matter was to force herself to look inside her own heart, and she was terrified of what she would find _. If I look back, I am lost._

Irri and Dany had crossed the world, fought battles, sacked cities, celebrated, and grieved, together. They shared fear, hope, anger and elation, and nothing could break that bond. When Dany’s blood did not run so hot, they took an odd comfort in that. Dany was still only half dressed when the knock at the door came, but she bid Tyrion enter. She was anxious to speak to him. He insisted this could not wait until tomorrow.

The Lord of Casterly Rock strode past the guard and into the chamber just a moment too late to catch a glimpse of Dany’s breasts. He made no attempt to apologize, but merely shook away the flash of lust on his face and kept his gaze on Dany’s eyes.  _He knows he will never fuck me_. He always had, and if he ever lamented that, Dany was sure he had long since made peace with it. Once she decided to let him keep his head, they became fast friends. She confided much and more in him, but not everything.

Tyrion knew better than to question why Dany and Irri were both sweaty and red in the face, or why Irri was sliding a whip under the Queen’s bed, or why there were manacles dangling from the ceiling. _If he’s spent half the time in brothels as they say, he knows why_. She knew there were eyes everywhere in the Red Keep, but Dany felt comfortable around her Hand. Tyrion had not forgotten the last time he left this city, or the events leading up to it. He knew what it was like to suffer the judgment of others for what he did in his own bedchamber, and though he never said it outright, he made clear that he would not inflict that on Dany. The only others who knew were Irri and the most loyal Unsullied she allowed to guard her bedchamber. _The gargoyles would tell my secrets before they would._   

“Wine?”

“Your Grace knows me well.” He bowed politely and sat.  

Dany glanced at Irri, who was standing on a chest and reaching to unhook the manacles from the ceiling. _Too late to hide it, silly girl._ “Do that later, sweetling. Lord Tyrion is thirsty.” She stole a glance at Tyrion, who had thought it best to stare silently into oblivion like the Unsullied outside her door. She looked away, joining Tyrion in the mummer’s farce of pretending not to see.

Irri stepped down and smiled. “At once, _Khaleesi_ ,” and she set to filling their cups. Dany smiled back, but was uncomfortable meeting her eyes. She turned back to Tyrion, and was no more comfortable meeting his, but their gazes collided nonetheless. For half a heartbeat she cracked a dry smile before bringing it under control, and Tyrion restrained one himself. They both knew what was happening.

“What news?” She asked, as Irri handed them both a Dornish red.

He sighed. “Troubling word from the east.”

_Is there any other kind of word from the east?_  Dany’s face told Tyrion to get on with it.

He continued. "It appears the Iron Bank has agreed to finance Pentoshi slave raids on Skagos, Hardhome, and the Summer Isles in exchange for a share of the profits, and the Sealord of Braavos has agreed to turn a blind eye. As yet there is no trade in Braavos itself, but slave ships sail unmolested into Ragman’s Harbor to resupply for the journey to Lys, Myr, Tyrosh, and Volantis.” 

Dany set her cup down, and clenched a fist. They sat in silence as she composed herself. "Skagos,” she said, with an icy calm. “What does the King in the North say to this?”

“The King in the North says ‘more grain please, I can barely feed my people.’”

Dany loved Tyrion’s wit, but could have done without it just then.

“How. _How?!_ " Dany slammed her cup onto her side table, speaking in the same voice she used when she first announced to the Unsullied that she was their owner. It was a voice not meant to be answered back to, and Tyrion was not fool enough to try.

She tried again. "How did this happen? Did I not make my position clear enough when I burned half of Essos?”

“We are in the Iron Bank's debt, Your Grace. Deeply.” 

"We’re in Petyr Baelish’s debt as well, but I don’t see him sailing about on a ship full of child whores, do you?”

"I haven't _seen_ it, no, Your Grace." Tyrion saw the look on Dany's face and regretted the quip. When Dany was wroth, she would raise an eyebrow and smile a bit, as if she was amused that he thought he could get away with whatever he just did. He was no stranger to her anger, but he knew that it would pass, and that the Queen was not her father. But it was late, and he was growing frustrated with her. “Would you like me to write the Iron Bank a strongly worded letter and threaten to stop paying? They would pluck up the first shoeless, flea-ridden child with black hair and blue eyes they see on the street, proclaim to the world that he’s Robert’s bastard, and send him here to deliver their reply with fifty thousand men at his back."  _He grows too familiar, like Ser Jorah and the rest of them_.

“ _Enough_. Lady Greyjoy shall close Blackwater Bay to all ships from Braavos. Have her men board all other ships and inspect the hold before they enter the harbor. If a ship is carrying even a single slave, we shall free them, behead the captain, geld the crew root and stem, and take whatever else is in the hold. Greyjoy's men will sail it back to wherever it came from, with nothing but a crew of eunuchs and a hold full of broken collars, flying the three-headed dragon with the captain’s head on the prow.” She had not been this wroth since she sailed from Essos. "Ready the Royal Fleet. The biggest galleys with the fiercest men. Ironborn. Mean ones. We shall do the same on the open water from the Stepstones to the Skaagosi coast. When Drogon returns from his hunt I will–” 

“Burn the Free Cities to the ground? And destroy all that trade with Westeros? Forfeit a million dragons in Tariff revenue for each turn of the moon? I’m sorry Your Grace, but at the moment, we are powerless to do anything about this." 

“You choose your battles wisely, my lord. Of all the commands of mine you could question, you’re choosing to defy me on slavery?” _Men are so eager to serve and obey, until they’d rather not_ , she thought. _Until they think they know what’s best, and then they talk to me as if I’m still a maid of three and ten._  "I will not sit by and allow this to happen so long as I draw breath. Do not speak to me about being powerless. Power resides—“ 

"In a vault in Braavos that pays the army that keeps the Queen’s Peace, and drains the Realm of half its gold in return."

"I thought it was a chair."

"That chair may be ripped out of the floor and carted off to the bank vault if we're not careful."  _He has the right of it, the little shit._ She glanced at her serving girl, standing politely in the corner, smiling a dutiful but vacant smile. Dany hated when Tyrion outwitted her in front of Irri. It made her skin crawl and her whole body tense. As if the girl was waiting to put a sword in her back at the first sign of weakness, like Ser Jaime did to her father. She took a sip of wine and collected her thoughts.

"If they want to choose a new King, we shall choose a new Sealord.” Tyrion was not expecting that. He had not thought of it. She liked that.“Braavos is flooded with freedmen seeking work and fleeing their former masters. This cannot sit well with them. Find a rival to the Sealord, promise him our backing, and raise him an army of freedmen and Braavosi smallfolk. Grey Worm will come with you to choose officers and train them properly. Leave within a fortnight.” Tyrion looked he had more wisdom to impart. “One more condescension from you and we’ll compromise. You can write that letter you so helpfully suggested, and I’ll send it to them on a ship with  _your_ head on the prow.” 

She did not mean it, and they both knew that. Singers spoke in rhymes, septons spoke in prayers, but Tyrion Lannister spoke almost exclusively in threats and japes, and he judged people on how well they could give back what he gave them. At first, she feared he would sell her to the highest bidder at the first hint of weakness, but by now, the insolence had become a game, and one she was growing to love. Tonight, though, it was clear the Mother of Dragons was near her wit’s end. 

“As my Queen commands."  _That’s the smartest thing you’ve said since you walked in the room_. Tyrion bowed and left.

Dany turned her head to Irri, standing politely in the corner. They exchanged a sad look, almost mournful. If Dany could only be remembered by one of her titles, it would be as the Breaker of Chains. Kings of Westeros come and go, and as much as she cherished her dragons, they were a gift from the gods and a means to her destiny, not the fruit of a labor she chose to undertake. She had left a trail of corpses on her journey back to the Iron Throne, and without the Great Liberation, those men will have died for naught but her own vanity.  _I will not have it said that I sent thousands of men to their deaths for a nicer chair and no other good for the world._

“I have no more need of you tonight. You have my leave to go,” she told the girl. She tried to say it as kindly as she could, but she was exhausted and drained of emotion.

“As you say,  _Khaleesi_.”

Dany mustered a smile as Irri left. “Sweet dreams!” She added, right as the door closed. If Irri heard it, she made no reply. The guilt washed back over her for a heartbeat.

She remembered the first time Irri offered her body in service, on that terrible cog that Illyrio had sent to fetch her back to Pentos. Her dragons were babes and would eat from her hand. She had barely escaped Qarth with her life. She was still numb inside from Drogo’s death. Irri’s skill with her mouth had reawakened Dany’s desire, and for that she would always be grateful, but somewhere between Qarth and King’s Landing, something changed.

Dany had always craved a bit of power over her lovers, ever since she pushed Drogo the fearsome  _Khal_  on his back and made him say her name as she rode him. Maybe this was bred into her. Maybe her mind had created this when she was young, to save her from the cruel and arbitrary anger of Viserys.  _And his forty thousand men, and their horses_. She still preferred men who could overpower her, as Drogo could, and then Daario, but she insisted on being overpowered on her own terms and hers alone.

The more power she gained as a ruler, the more she lost as a woman. Each city she sacked needed to be rebuilt. Each man who bent the knee brought his own sorry tale about how his neighbor was grazing sheep on his land, or got his daughter with child. By the time she came into her Kingdom, the gaggle of men following her with their own demands and agendas was larger than the  _khalasar_  she had led across the Red Waste. It was all dressed as humble supplication, of course, but she had learned long ago in Meereen that should she refuse too many of them too often, soon or late she’d face rebellion. Yet by appeasing one man she angered another, and would have to make up for it the next time his neighbor’s daughter was eating his grass or getting his sheep with child, or whatever they were going on about. 

The loneliness of her bed was the worst, though. She had amassed an army of a hundred thousand men, and it seemed like every last one of them was beautiful, but she could not risk the scorn and scandal that would come with summoning any of them of them to her chambers. As she journeyed west, she relied more on the Dothraki girl to tend to her needs. The change started simply enough. If her day had been taxing, she would take the girl’s hair into her fists and pull just a little bit harder.  _I am tense, and the girl is here to relieve me_ , she would tell herself. _It’s a testament to her skill._

But soon that was not enough for Daenerys Stormborn, the Unburnt, the Mother of Dragons. One night as her ship sailed west from Volantis, she asked the girl if she would like her Queen to make love to her the way she did to Drogo. Irri was confused at first. “ _Khaleesi_ , I don’t–”

“On your back, sweetling.”

She mounted the girl’s face and rode it the same way as she did Drogo’s cock the first night she tamed him. Hard but deliberate. Sweetly, in her own way, but never yielding her position or allowing even the thought of resistance. Irri struggled a bit at first, but relented when it became clear that Dany would allow her a few gasps of breath when she needed them.

Like all Targaryens, when Dany was born the gods flipped a coin to decide if she would be a great ruler or a mad one. To the rest of the world, her coin seemed to have landed on the side of greatness. But on that bed, in that ship, on that night, the coin seem to flip again on its own, like a mummer’s trick. _I have fooled even the gods._  

A madness consumed her that night. She could not say where it came from, but she could not deny its power. She needed something, someone, that was hers and hers alone. Power that no one else could tell her how to wield; a conquest without compromise; an indulgence of the vice she had made it her life’s work to eradicate. The people she had freed made no matter in that moment. All the wars she fought and all those to come made no matter. Her birthright made no matter. All she wanted was to conquer, subjugate, and bend this girl to the darkest urges of her will. She _needed_ it. She needed to feel what it was like to become every bit the tyrant that her father was, if only for the night; to rule with an iron hand over a kingdom of one. _My father was ready to raze a city of innocents to hold on to this power. Surely it must feel good to hold. I’m a good person, I’ve worked so hard, come so far, and done so much good. I deserve a taste_.

Dany felt Irri grab her hips reflexively, tugging and urging her to go harder, faster. Any fear or confusion the girl had felt before had melted into lust and eagerness. Dany knew this, and understood it was a good thing, but still she liked it not. _She presumes too much. They all presume too much. This ends now, before she grows accustomed to it_ , she thought, as the sensation of the girl sucking on her clit overwhelmed her and her panting grew more feverish. _I put my cunt where I want. Her face is mine to rape_. Dany grabbed the girl’s wrists, pinned them above her head, and tugged a fistful of her hair, forcing Irri’s widened eyes straight into Dany’s stare. “You do _not_ touch my body without my leave. Viserys did that and he died screaming. Do you want to be like Viserys? _Do you?_ ” _What in the seven hells am I saying?_  

The girl’s eyes widened even more as she shook her head frantically and muttered a “no, _Khaleesi!_ ” into Dany’s cunt. Dany searched for something to bind the girl’s hands where they were, but the best she could do was to throw a pillow on top of them. “Move your hands again and I’ll cut them off myself and toss them right over the side of this ship.” That was all it took. The girl obeyed, as tears began to fill her eyes. That alone was enough to make her cunt pulse.  _I want to see more of those. I want to see how much this slut can take. I want to strip her of everything she is, and rebuild her as my own creature. I want her terrified of me. I want her in love with me. I want to hear naught from her cunt-licking mouth but pleas for more of whatever I think she deserves._

Treating the girl like this, speaking to her like this, breaking her will and claiming her as chattel made Dany feel liberated, possibly for the first time in her life. The rush from the power burst forth like Rhaegal and Viserion the day they escaped the catacombs of the Great Pyramid. She felt like she was soaring. She felt hungry, powerful, and furious with herself that she had held this back for so much of her life.

Only weeks earlier she had ridden her Silver right through the gates of the most important city in the slave trade of Essos, its streets lined by the hundreds and thousands of freedmen who had risen up in revolt when they heard she was coming. Thousands were on their knees; some in terror, some in awe, some in gratitude, some in hope, and some because they had no other notion what to do. With Volantis came an enormous fleet, a well-organized legion of former slave soldiers, supremacy on the river Rhoyne, and gold enough that Tyrion told her he felt ashamed to have ever called himself rich. But this was more thrilling, more satisfying, than all of that.

When Dany decided that Irri’s face and mouth had done their duty in service of her royal person, she slid down, licked the wetness from her servant’s face, and kissed Irri passionately on the mouth. She had never done this before. Not like this. Irri was not as surprised this time. She kissed back, hoping to provoke Dany even more; to wake the dragon and let it consume them both. After the kiss came a slap to the face, and a twist of the nipple, and it would never be the same.  

Her mind turned back to the matters at hand. _It seems broken chains can grow back and multiply._ If it was not enough to break them, she would pull each one up by the root, melt them down, and give the Sealord and his Pentoshi cheesemongers a crown of molten iron, like Drogo gave Viserys with gold. 

The manacles were still swaying back and forth ever so slightly when they caught the corner of her eye. The gods’ jape was not lost on her. _That one shall stay_ , she vowed to the gods, defiant.  _I claim it for mine own._


	2. Irri I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _Mother of dragons,_ Daenerys thought. _Mother of monsters. What have I unleashed upon the world? A queen I am, but my throne is made of burned bones, and it rests on quicksand._ Without dragons, how could she hope to hold Meereen, much less win back Westeros? _I am the blood of the dragon,_ she thought. _If they are monsters, so am I."_
> 
>  _\--A Dance with Dragons_ , Daenerys II

It was an overcast morning on the Blackwater, as Irri spotted Tyrion amble stiffly up the steps to join her, Grey Worm, and the Queen on the aftcastle of the galleas _Prince Rhaegar_. The clouds were low and dark, foretelling rain, but the horizon went on for miles and they could see the Spice Town Harbor and the castle of High Tide on coast of Driftmark in the distance.

They had departed King’s Landing a fortnight ago. The Queen was to disembark at Dragonstone, and Tyrion and Grey Worm would continue to Braavos. Though they still had at least one more day of sailing, this morning they were anchored, with the sails furled.

Dany had called for Irri’s body the night before, but was gentle with her, laying back while Irri serviced her, stroking her hair, and only moving as much as her royal body demanded when the pleasure overtook her.

Irri was never quite sure what to make of nights like that. _Was she rewarding me? Taking pity on me? Does my pain not please her enough?_ Some days Irri would search desperately for any hint that she had earned a place in her _Khaleesi_ ‘s good graces. Other days she would spend in terror of her wrath, and others she would spend all her waking hours with a soaked cunt, lusting for the next time she would be ravaged, debased, humiliated, subjugated, and stripped of everything that made her human.

It had not always been like that. She had hated it at first. But after a time, Irri found that in spite of all of the cruelty, others simply could not please her like Daenerys. And after more time, she realized that Dany’s love was so beautiful not in spite of her cruelty but because of it. She had always preferred men who could be rough with her, but no matter how sore she felt in how many places the next morning, she was still unfulfilled.

 _Men fuck with their cocks, but the Queen fucks with her mind,_ Irri realized. _She_ rapes _with her mind._ Dany had willed dragons from stones, peoples to their knees, ships to the bottom of the sea, her dynasty back to its lands, and death itself back to the icy wasteland where it belonged. It was a small thing for her to will Irri to become a wanton slut for her. _Were she a man, she could raise a_ Khalasar _of her own bastards by now_. The thought made Irri’s heart race. She looked at Dany, wearing a surcoat and doublet in the colors of her House, black breeches, and boots. She looked fearsome; sex and violence personified. Unprompted, Irri felt a familiar sensation building in her cunt until Tyrion opened his mouth and quashed it in the way only Tyrion could.

“Your Grace. I noticed my piss didn’t fly much beyond my shoe this morning. Why have we stopped?” Tyrion asked. It was a very good question, to which Daenerys just smiled. _I’ve seen that smile before,_ Irri realized. It was the same smile she had given Kraznys mo Nakloz in Astapor, just before she melted his face and took his army.

 _Prince Rhaegar_ was surrounded by an escort of longships and some of the finest war galleys in the Royal Fleet, forming a wide circle to protect the Queen. But to their immediate right was _Triarch’s Lament_ , a galley her navy had commandeered from the Volantene fleet at the Battle of Meereen after its slaves had revolted. Its deck had been outfitted with a catapult for bombarding hardened defenses along the shore, which required some of the oars to be removed, slowing it down and putting it out of place among the rest of the ships.

The Hand of the Queen was to enter Braavos under the guise of a diplomatic mission, to treat with the Sealord for more favorable terms of trade, to placate the Iron Bank with a partial payment on the Crown’s debt, and to entice more merchants to visit the Seven Kingdoms. The mission would take weeks if not months to complete. Dany had gambled that Tyrion’s reputation would precede him, and that no one would find it out of place if he spent his nights in taverns and brothels.

Riding from Winterfell at Jon’s command was Arya Stark, who would sail from White Harbor and join them in Braavos, entering as an unremarkable crewman of a trading galley. Once inside the city, Arya was to pose as a whore , meet Tyrion at a brothel, and secretly introduce him to Yorko Antaryon, the son of the former Sealord and a fierce opponent of slavery. Yorko’s family had become sorely missed after Tormo Fraegar took over as Sealord, and Tormo’s tacit approval of slavery had only added to the calls for an Antaryon restoration. Being no stranger to restorations, Dany was more than happy to assist, so long as Yorko did not betray the cause.

Normally, the Blackwater was teeming with ships. But today, they and their escort were the only ones on the sea. Asha Greyjoy’s blockade had sealed off the Bay, and all ships bound for King’s Landing were being escorted to Sharp Point or Duskendale. Before they departed, Dany had ordered all of the smallfolk, even soldiers, to leave Driftmark. “The soldiers can garrison at Dragonstone for the nonce. The fisherfolk can go where they like. Give every man gold enough for everything he owns, and half again,” she had commanded her Small Council before adjourning the meeting, leaving no time to debate or question her purpose. Not even Asha knew why the Queen had ordered the blockade. All of it was a secret between Dany and Grey Worm.

Dany looked at Grey Worm, and he gave her a nod. Dany closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as if she was lost in thought. A moment later came a friendly, playful, unmistakable screech. Irri was not their mother, but had spent enough time around the dragons that she could sense their mood.

Rhaegal announced his arrival from behind, sweeping low over the deck of their ship. Under his belly was a large barrel that could easily have fit five men inside, all standing. It had been fitted with two metal loops that the dragon could grip with his talons.

“Gods be good,” said Tyrion, as Rhaegal passed overhead, banked right, flapped his wings laboriously, and dragged his heavy barrel upward toward the cloud ceiling. “Is that--must I witness this?”

“Yes. Don’t look away. I’ll know if you do,” the Queen replied, as Rhaegal disappeared into the clouds. Aboard _Triarch’s Lament_ , two Unsullied loaded a sheep into the catapult, its legs bound together, bleating desperately.

“ _Khaleesi?_ “ Irri knew better than to question Dany in moments like this, but at least wanted to know what she forbidden to question her about.

Dany understood, took her hand, and pointed forward into the distance, like a mother with a child at her first mummer’s show. “Watch the coast, sweetling.” A heartbeat later, from out of the cloud appeared little more than a speck, falling silently, lazily, toward the ground. Dany squeezed her hand, hard. _The barrel_? She did not know what else it could be.

Irri had seen more than her share of terrible sights at Dany’s side, but this was far worse than even the bloodiest massacre. The speck disappeared into the buildings of Spice Town, and suddenly the world was gone in a blinding flash. When she opened her eyes, Spice Town Harbor was consumed by a green blaze. She watched as the towers of High Tide, formerly the seat of the great House Velaryon, turned to dust, like an ant hill a child had kicked over. Dany gripped her hand harder and caressed Irri’s palm with her thumb, like she often did when she wanted to remind her of their love without catching anyone’s eye.

Just as Irri noticed the surreal silence around her, a wave appeared on the horizon, hurtling toward them faster than any wave she had ever seen. They all ducked and shielded themselves, but there was nothing to dodge; just a crushing, deafening, crackling sound, like thunder from inside the cloud, that rocked the ship so violently that Irri feared it would break apart. Dany pulled her close for a moment as the wave passed, but it was over almost instantly, and just like that, it was if nothing had happened. Before anyone could recover, Irri felt a hard bite on her earlobe, and her eyes were trapped in the most wicked gaze Daenerys Stormborn had ever given her.

A moment after they had gotten back to their feet and shaken themselves off, one of the Unsullied on the _Triarch’s Lament_ barked an order, and the catapult let fly. The sheep’s bleating was sickening, but soon it was well out of earshot. As it reached it apex, Rhaegal came diving from the clouds, let out a short burst of orange flame, caught the sheep in his mouth, and swallowed it like a man might swallow a grape. He let out another friendly screech—proud of himself and hoping he had pleased his mother. Dany smiled up at the sky as he passed overhead, beaming ear to ear, and just that quickly, Rhaegal flapped his wings again and disappeared back into the clouds behind the ship.

The Great Other himself could not have pulled the smile from Dany’s face. “Oh, yes. This will do.” Dany walked over to Grey Worm and kissed him on both cheeks. Even the eunuch had to smile.

Irri finally understood what she had just seen. _Wildfire_. She had heard tales of it before, but never witnessed its fury first-hand. It had been a source of dread as their fleet approached King’s Landing for the invasion, and Tyrion was convinced that his sister would use it before the city fell. Fortunately, Lady Arya managed to slit Cersei Lannister’s throat before she had the chance. That left the defense of the city in the hands of Ser Jaime, who promptly raised a peace banner over the Red Keep, met Dany at the Mud Gate, and bent the knee.

After the war and before the smallfolk returned to the city, Dany had all the wildfire in King’s Landing shipped off to Dragonstone to be stored deep under the castle. “I will have no accidents,” Dany explained at the time, but Irri wondered if it was chance that the Queen was guarding against, or herself. The dragons went to Dragonstone as well, as Dany refused to chain them up in a pit and insisted they be given the freedom to roam. Dragonstone was garrisoned by Unsullied who could ensure they were cared for, and the war had cured them of their more rambunctious tendencies.

“This one is pleased to have served Your Grace.” Grey Worm had never mastered the Common Tongue, but that was one of the few sentences he could string together almost fluently.

“He can do this through clouds? Fog? He knows where he is, even if he can’t see the ground?”

“He can be trained to fly a distance and course from Dragonstone. You must ride him to the cities on a clear day. Stay high enough that you can’t be seen. Make circles above the city, and return. He will not forget it.”

 _She will unleash hell on me tonight_. Irri had learned by now that Dany’s blood ran hot when she felt powerless and confined in her role as Queen. _When she cannot bend the Realm to her will, she will settle for her handmaiden_. But the only thing worse than when Dany felt powerless was when she felt the opposite.

She turned to Tyrion. “Now you know the fate of Braavos if you fail. Do not fail.”

“--Yes. No. I won’t, Your Grace.” The dwarf was still as speechless and horrified.

The captain finally made his way on deck, an unassuming Volantene freedman who had been a navigator and keeper of a ship’s logs during his time as a slave. Some handler or another had decided that his education made him a more appropriate master for a ship carrying the Queen than the usual Ironborn brutes. Dany had been disappointed when she boarded the ship and saw him. She liked brutes of all kinds. She liked catching them off guard, making them uncomfortable, making them blush, making them forget everything but her when she was in their presence. Irri dared not fathom the twisted things going through Dany’s minds when a hulk of muscle thrice again her size knelt at her feet like a trained puppy, but she knew they were there.

Still, this captain was courteous, a good conversation, fiercely loyal to the woman who had freed him from bondage, and ran a tight ship that made made superb time. He was in as much awe and terror as everyone else, so Dany did him the mercy of keeping things brief.

“Raise anchor and make haste for Dragonstone. A Queen’s children must know the world beyond their castle, and I mean to start with the Free Cities.”

“Aye, Your Grace,” and with that, the orders were given and the ship was back underway.

Dany gave the others leave to go, but bid Irri stay with her on the aftcastle and enjoy the air. “In Braavos, there are shrines and statues of gods from all over the world,” she told Irri when they were gone, after a moment of silence. “Like Vaes Dothrak,” she said, “but in Braavos it’s so all men feel welcome in the city, not to boast of their conquests. If I must destroy the city, I shall build shrines like that in King’s Landing. Tyrion will say we don’t have the space for endless shrines, but Tyrion can go bugger a cat.”

Irri was often lost when Dany spoke of matters of state. She had learned much and more over the years as she watched Dany conquer and rule, but conquering and ruling were like riding a horse; a man could not truly learn by simply watching. But so her Queen would not think her stupid, Irri tried to cobble together a response. “Maybe you can build one shrine for all of them, _Khaleesi_.”

Dany smiled, and caressed her hand on the railing. “Maybe. They say in Braavos that every man must bow to the god of death. ‘The many-faced god,’ they call him. Maybe I can build a shrine to him. The elderly and the sick can go to receive the gift of a painless death, and free themselves from their suffering.”

 _She IS the many-faced god_ , Irri could not help but think, _but her gifts are seldom painless_. Every living thing under the sun owed its very existence to the fact that Daenerys Targaryen has not yet bothered to destroy it. _If anyone on this ship ever denied that, she just made liars and fools of them all_. The thought filled her with lust. Irri was raised to worship the Great Stallion, but never found joy in it. _Why worship a stallion I cannot see, when I can give my body to fire made flesh? She stands before me now, and I have felt her power. She is not just a story._ That afternoon she felt that power again, and again, and again, until she fell asleep sore and covered in sweat.

It was the middle of the night when Irri felt herself being shaken awake. She rolled onto her back, opened her eyes, and saw Dany wearing a rough-spun hooded cloak, and holding another.

“Put this on,” she commanded, not unkindly. Irri sat up, confused and disoriented, but as was her nature now, her body began to obey the Queen’s will before her mind even comprehended it. Dany’s cloak was made for a man nearly twice again her size, as most were, and the cowl concealed all of her hair and most of her face. “I want some fresh air.” Dany marched up the steps, with her Unsullied guard at her side and Irri trudging behind; a Summer Islander who had been assigned the name Blue Dog on the day he was liberated, and, like Grey Worm, had chosen to keep it.

It seemed the only fresh air above deck that met the Queen’s approval was in a corner near the aftcastle among some rope and crates. She grabbed a cord of rope and passed it to her handmaiden. “Hold this.”

Irri’s heart skipped a beat as she coiled the rope around her shoulder. _She has but one use for rope,_ she knew.

An oarsman emerged from the crew’s sleeping quarters to piss off the side of the rail. Oarsmen were easy to spot; they were lean, and their bodies were all muscle and sinew. This one was tall, bald, and mean-looking. Ironborn, most like.

Blue Dog looked to Dany, who nodded in response. “Yes, that one.” Irri was taken aback. _She prefers a cock tonight._ She was disappointed, almost angry that Dany had not told her sooner, and worried for half a heartbeat that her body was no longer pleasing. But she knew in her mind that no one person’s body was enough for a woman like Daenerys. _She’ll have me again tomorrow. She loves me. I should be happy for her._

The eunuch strode deliberately toward the oarsman, grabbed him from behind, and covered his mouth. He was about to fight back when Blue Dog turned him toward Dany, who marched up to him and stopped just in front of him. He was a beast of a man, and Dany’s eyes were on a level with his nipples. She craned her neck upward as she removed her hood. Suddenly his body went stiff, and he stopped fighting back.

Her voice was quiet but forceful. “At my command, he will open your belly and dump your entrails into the sea, so I will only say this once. When he lets you go, you will speak no louder than I’m speaking now. Are we clear?”

The oarsman gave her a terrified nod. A wave of jealousy swept over Irri. _I thought only I gave her looks like that._ She wanted to throw herself at Dany’ feet and plead for another beating, but knew she couldn’t.

“Release him.” Blue Dog obeyed, and the oarsman gasped for breath. The poor man was at a loss for words. He would have counted himself lucky to even _see_ the Queen on this journey, much less speak to her. It took him a moment to make sense of things, but after a heartbeat he remembered himself and knelt.

“Not now.” Dany motioned impatiently for him to rise and follow her. “Come.” She started toward the stairs, and he rose and followed her, with Blue Dog at his heels to keep him from having second thoughts.

As they walked back toward his cabin, she asked him, “Have you ever fucked a Queen before?”

His jaw slacked. _Of course he hasn’t fucked a Queen before._

Dany smiled at him, sweetly, coyly. “Why that look? If the tales of Cersei Lannister are true, it’s an entirely fair question.” She took his hand, like a whore leading her patron to a private room.

Blue Dog opened the door to Dany’s cabin and remained inside after it shut. Dany did not normally like an audience, but neither did she like being unguarded around a total stranger who could snap her spine over his knee. The Queen sat at the foot of her bed and smiled, wearing the same doublet, breeches and boots as she had been wearing that day. Her ass bounced a bit when it hit the mattress, and her feet barely touched the ground. She looked almost childlike. Irri found it endearing.

“Come here.” She waved him over. “Now you can kneel.” Her tone was not that of Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, but rather of Dany, the woman who wanted to see this man kneel and admire his muscles. The oarsman dropped to one knee. “Both knees,” she corrected him. For lack of other options, he sat on his heels and looked back toward Blue Dog, convinced he was about to lose his head.

“He will not trouble you,” she reassured him, as she extended her right foot toward him and pressed her boot lightly and playfully against his chest. “Take these off.”

“Aye, Your Grace,” he managed to get out as he set to frantically unlacing her boots, as if he were trying to beat an hour glass. Dany chuckled as he struggled with it. Once he’d gotten it off, she pointed to her bare foot.

“Kiss it.” Bewildered, he kissed the top of her foot like he would have kissed a lady's hand.

“No, no.” She rolled her ankle around in his hands and pressed her sole into his face. The playfulness was gone from her voice. “Like you mean it.” He held it, pushed his face into it and planted a hard, long kiss, almost pulling away when he inhaled, as if he were surprised that it smelled of old leather and sweat.

“Better.” She withdrew, and had him start on the other foot. The oarsman got the kissing part right that time, and she was satisfied. Dany liked the feeling of an eager, grateful mouth on her feet, and could have drawn that out much longer. _She has something else in mind_.

Effortlessly and as if he were not even there, Dany disrobed completely, sat back down in front of the oarsman, gave him just enough time to see her cunt, and crossed her legs. This man could easily have overpowered her and taken her right there, but Dany showed no hint of fear.

“Look at my eyes,” she commanded, not the least bit surprised that he had been looking elsewhere. The man’s mouth opened a bit. He had heard that the Dragon Queen had purple eyes, but more like than not, he thought it was just a tale. Now they were staring down at him, and he wondered what else he’d heard was true.

Dany dragged her foot up from the man’s belly button, flexed her toes right around his nipples, dragged them lightly over his lips, and put her sole back in his face.

“Of course you can kiss it again, how sweet of you,” she told him with a mocking, playful smile. The man kissed the sole of her foot like it was his child he’d thought was dead, and inhaled deeply, knowing exactly what it was going to smell like and savoring all of it. Blue Dog was still in the room, but he no longer mattered. _This man is hers_.

Dany withdrew again and leaned forward, no longer as playful. “Before we go any further, you will answer my questions, no more, no less. Can you read or write?”

“No, Your Grace.” Dany nodded.

“You’re Ironborn?”

“Aye, Your Grace.”

“You fought in the War?”

“Aye, I did.”

“Were you Asha’s or the Crow’s Eye’s?”

He hesitated for a moment. “--the Crow’s Eye’s, Your Grace.” He felt the need to explain. “But I never--I was just--”

“You were just doing as you were bid.” She leaned forward, caressed his cheek and smiled down into his ever more dumbstruck eyes. “I understand completely, and bear you no ill will. I simply wish to learn about you. Tell me, when you were with the Crow’s Eye, did you raid up the Mander?”

“I did, Your Grace. But--”

She kicked the crotch of his pants lightly; not enough to hurt him, but enough to show that she could. “No more, and no less. Don’t make me say it again.” He nodded.

“Did you sack towns and holdfasts?”

“Aye, Your Grace.” He wanted to say more, but stopped himself.

“Pillaged? Plundered?”

“Aye, Your Grace.”

“Raped?” The oarsman looked just as fearful as when the Unsullied grabbed him. His face was bright red. _Please, for your own sake, just admit it,_ Irri told him with her eyes, yet he remained silent. Dany looked at him like he was a serving girl who had taken too long with her wine.

“--Yes. I--yes, Your Grace.”

“Good.” Irri spied Dany’s hips rock subtly against the mattress when he said that. _She wants to know what that was like._ “Villagers?”

He nodded, as if not speaking any more would save him from whatever fate she had already decided.

“Tavern wenches? Farmers’ daughters?”

He kept nodding and looked like he was about to cry.

“Any high born?” She cocked her head with an almost detached curiosity.

“Lord Redwyne’s niece, Your Grace.”

Dany briefly weighed whether that was high enough for her. Irri could not guess the answer, but it seemed to make no matter.

“Dothraki handmaidens?” Irri’s stomach twisted as Dany smiled over at her.

 _No, no, please, please, please, no._ The malice in her smile was thicker than the morning. Irri would gladly take the worst of what Dany had to give her, but could not bear the idea of surrendering to a man she just met. There would be no feelings between them, only regret. Even if he were gentle, he would disgust her, and Dany was not like to let him be gentle. _Please_ , Khaleesi _, all I’ve ever wanted was to serve you, but please, not this_. Irri was a child of seven when her _khalasar_ was enslaved by Drogo’s. She never told Dany what happened after. _I thought it went without saying. Does she not know? Had she not thought of it? Does she not care?_ The last thought made her nauseous.

“No, Your Grace.” The oarsman looked at Irri. His face apologized in advance. _He’s been a rapist since he became a man, and this is too much even for him_.

Dany snapped her fingers and the oarsman’s eyes went right back to hers reflexively, as if he’d been doing it all his life. “You’ve spent quite some time on ships. What about men?”

He hesitated, but Dany’s eyes persuaded him to think better of it. “--Once, Your Grace.”

Dany smiled and turned to Irri. “Once,” she repeated mockingly, one finger in the air for emphasis. “Stand up, turn around, and put your hands against the wall. Blue Dog, give me your dirk.” The oarsman looked at her, ready to start begging for his life.

“I told you, if I wanted you dead, you’d be dead,” Dany reminded him, pointing toward the wall. And so he bent to his Queen’s will, moving almost gracefully, like she was leading him in a dance. _Is it always this way with her_?  Dany stood up, took the dirk from Blue Dog, slid two fingers under the oarsman’s breeches, yanked them toward her, and sliced straight down the crack of his ass. When they hit the floor, she poked his left cheek lightly with the point of the dirk.

“Firm.” She grabbed it and felt it. “Very nice. Hold still. Irri, sweetling, come here.”

The man’s knees were starting to quiver as Irri stepped forward, and without warning, Dany slid her middle finger down the girl’s throat, clasping the jaw between her ring and index fingers. Needing no further instruction, Irri began to suck. She caught a glimpse of the oarsman’s cock, which had begun to stir itself, and felt her mouth start to water as she closed her eyes. _How does she make me think I want this?_ Just as her imagination began to meld the two, Dany removed her finger and slid it wordlessly into the man’s ass. He immediately clenched his cheeks as hard as he could and instinctively pulled away from her, toward the wall. He gasped and pulled away, but had nowhere to go. With her other hand, Dany pressed the dirk into the small of his back.

“If you don’t like my finger, you certainly won’t like the other choices. Pretend I’m Euron, and do as you’re bid.” As he let out a moan of resignation and grudging pleasure, she turned to Irri. “Touch it.” _He’s livestock to her._ She touched the man’s ass, almost petting it, as if to reassure him that she knows whatever he does to her will not be his fault. “Firm, isn’t it?”

“It is, _Khaleesi_.” Her voice was shaking. _Am I to join her in this? Do I have that malice in my heart?_

Dany peered around to his cock, which was rising fast and almost fully hard. She looked at Irri, then back at the cock, then back at Irri, smiling wryly. “Once!” She japed in a mocking whisper, wiggling her finger around inside the man. “Just once!” The man said nothing.

Dany removed her finger. “Get me a washcloth, sweetling. And you--” She realized she had never asked the man his name, but quickly decided that it made no matter. “I’ve been on this ship for a fortnight,” she told him as she was wiping her finger clean with the washcloth, “I love my husband, but he’s been away in the Riverlands for so long. I’m a only a young girl and need a man to comfort me.”

The oarsman was clearly enticed, but still wary.

Before he went above deck to have his piss, the oarsman was more like than not the kind of man who would boast in his cups about all he’d do if he ever had a chance to fuck the Dragon Queen. In Irri’s experience, oarsmen speak of oars, Dany’s cunt, and little else. And more like than not, most of his boasts involved defiling her her; bringing her down to the level of a common whore. Now, when faced with the actual chance, he was not so sure he wanted to. Irri was no longer sure she wanted this, either.

 _I could run away right now. Hide somewhere. Wander the docks at Dragonstone and hide on a ship from Ibben or the Summer Isles. She would never find me there._ Irri would do no such thing, of course. Blue Dog would murder her before she got within arm’s reach of the door. _Yet even if I had a chance, would I really do it? Or would I stay? Why is my heart racing? Why are my knees weak? Why is my cunt wet? Why does she know my own body better than I do?_

“But before we begin,” Dany interjected, “you’ll show me what you can do with this one.” She stood and turned to Irri. “Hands behind your back.”

Irri obeyed, taking a deep, nervous breath as she felt the rope coiling around her wrists. Dany was loving about it; sweet, not rushed. Irri’s entire body was telling her to fight. But if the Queen was at all worried about it, she gave away no sign.

It seemed like an eternity before she had been bound up to her elbows. Dany slid her hands around Irri’s waist and felt her wetness; teasing her with her fingers, nibbling her earlobe, and breathing softly on her neck. A sense of pleasure washed over her. _Maybe I want this now._ It was a disturbing thought. She feared the oarsman, she was repulsed by him, and she pitied him. But more than anything, she wanted to turn herself into a mindless doll for this man to ravage until the Queen was satisfied. She knew that would not happen until she suffered great pain inside and out, but to her disgust, she wanted it.

“When was the last time my sweet whore had a cock in her?” Dany asked. Irri’s mind went blank.

“I don’t know, _Khaleesi_. Two moon’s turns, I think.”

“Two turns? I don’t remember hearing about that.” Irri had a chance encounter with one of Dany’s household guards. Aegon was around, and Dany had given her leave for a fortnight. _She kept me away to protect herself from her own desires. I’m the wildfire. She’s the flame that ignites it._

“No, _Khaleesi!_ I didn’t think it mattered to you.”

“You didn’t think it _mattered?_ “ Dany gave her hair a tug. Irri’s neck snapped back and her eyes widened. _She still has the dirk. My neck is exposed. She could--she would never. I should not think those things._ “Who are you to presume to know what matters?”

She felt a blade pressed against her skin. _Please don’t slit my throat. Please don’t slit my throat._ “I’m sorry, _Khaleesi,_ I’m no one. I’m your whore. Your bedslave.”

“Must I remind you who owns this cunt?”

Irri was speechless. All she could muster was a soft moan.

“I asked you a question, slut.”

“You own it, _Khaleesi_. I’m stupid. I’m insolent. Punish me. Please, _Khaleesi_. Please punish your slut.”

Dany bent her over the side of bed with her arms behind her back, and kicked her knees apart. The oarsman moved toward her and put his hands around her waist.

“Did I say you could touch her?” The oarsman was startled. Dany grabbed his cock, squeezed and twisted, causing the oarsman’s knees to buckle and hit the side of the bed. His hands flew into the air like she had pointed a sword at his chest.

“I’m sorry!” He winced and pulled away.

“Don’t forget yourself. I’ll tell you when it’s time to forget yourself.” She crawled onto the bed, sat in front of Irri and wrapped her thighs around her head. _At least she lets me taste her._ She used to consider that a duty; not an unpleasant one, but simply part of her her service. But over time, as Dany pushed her deeper into her thrall, it had become an honor. “Go,” she said to the oarsman. “Show me what you do to filthy whores like this one.”

“No!” Irri yelled, resisting for a moment, but the oarsman grabbed her by the rope and pulled her back toward him, like he would grab a lamb to slaughter it. Dany found that funny. The man slid his cock into her, filling her. Dany grew wet and began to grind her cunt against Irri’s face, killing any hope of mercy.

The man did not waste his time being gentle. He thrusted his hips against her, each impact making her flesh ripple from her ass up to her shoulder blades. She felt the Queen grab her hair in one fist and pull her face into her crotch, tightening her thighs and grinding in rhythm with the man’s fucking. She enjoyed watching Irri struggle. _Should I struggle or give in? Which would please her more?_

“Use that slut. Ruin her. Split her in half,” she told him, panting. Irri started to sob as her mind went back to the Dothraki sea; to the crowd of men standing over her as she kicked and clawed the grass and did whatever she could to get away. They were all around her, stroking their cocks, spitting on her, saying horrible things to her that no child ought to hear, laughing at her futile attempts to get away. They defiled her in every way possible, leaving her bleeding and unable to walk or ride or sit down properly for days. Yet this was worse. Those men had defeated her _khalasar_ in battle. It was brutal, but such was the way of her people. This time, it all came from the mind of a woman who professed to love her, who laughed with her, kissed her, nuzzled her in her sleep, comforted her when her brother died in the Red Waste, and swore a solemn vow to protect her from anyone who would do her harm. That woman had abandoned her for this strange man.

“You told me you pay the Iron Price. You told me you’re a reaver.”

The man was not much for talking at the moment. “Aye,” he said between breaths.

“ _Then fuck her like one!_ “

Irri felt a blinding sting as the man smacked her ass. She winced, sucked her breath through her teeth, and looked up at Dany’s eyes. Those immaculate purple eyes were looking up at the oarsman and paid her no mind. The only acknowledgment Dany granted Irri was to grind her cunt on her face, mindlessly, in anticipation of this man’s cock. Irri felt jealous again. _She cares more about him than me. She’s using me to make her night with him more pleasurable. I’m a toy_. For half a heartbeat, that hurt more than the man being commanded to hurt her. But then she came to her senses. _She wants me to be her toy. I want it too._ She felt like she was sinking into a pool of blissful helplessness.

Irri was struck by the hint of submission in Dany’s eyes as she looked up at him. Her eyes were telling this man that _both_ of them were his sluts for the night. In that moment Irri realized just how much her entire understanding of the world was based on the notion that Daenerys Targaryen surrendered to no man. Anywhere. Ever. Yet here she was, preparing to surrender herself, so eager to play at being the conquered for once.

She sensed that Dany’s body was starting to get close to the height of its pleasure when the Queen released her hair, pulled away, and rolled onto her stomach next to her.

“Now. Come on. Fuck me. Like those peasants you raped. _Fuck me!_ “ She shouted, looking back over her shoulder and presenting her cunt to him like a bitch in heat.

Irri felt the man pull out of her. _I will be sore tomorrow_ , she thought, once he was out. She closed her eyes to catch her breath, but felt a hand smack the side of her head. She opened her eyes just in time to watch Dany’s eyes widen, then shut tight, then reopen, rolled back in her head. “Pay attention, cunt. Watch me get fucked like a whore, just like you.”

Something about it disturbed her. She had never seen Dany completely at the mercy of another person, much less a lowborn man. But this man could have her however he wanted in this moment, and it seemed that Dany could not be happier. Dany’s eyes rolled back in her head and she gasped in pleasure as the man entered her.

“Harder! Hit me!” Irri heard the sound of a hand hitting Dany’s ass, but Dany barely reacted. “ _Hit_ me, you pile of shit, _hit me!_ “ Irri looked back at the oarsman. _He thinks she’ll be wroth if he hits her too hard_. “Are you afraid of hurting me? Do you think I don’t _want_ it to hurt?” The oarsman slapped her ass again, harder, but still holding back.

“Blue Dog!” She shouted over her shoulder. The eunuch had been in a resting position, with his feet apart and his arm extended to his side, his spear at an angle. At Dany’s command, he snapped to attention. “Drive your spear through his back if he slows down. I’ll tell him when he’s done.” Blue Dog tapped the butt of his spear on the floor and took one step forward from against the wall.

That sufficed. Irri heard a louder slap, as Dany screamed in pain and bucked her hips back against him. “Oh, yes, that’s it. Come on, fuck this wet little cunt you laugh about in your cups.”

Irri’s eyes were about to close from exhaustion. She was fighting to keep them open for fear of displeasing her Queen, but when she thought she was about to lose that battle, Dany’s head snapped backward. The oarsman’s large, calloused, dirty, sweat-caked fist had a clump of Dany’s hair in it; the hair that marked her as the blood of Old Valyria; the blood of Aegon the Conqueror; the harbinger of magic back into the world. The hair that burnt in Drogo’s pyre while the rest of her remained untouched; that grew back and became the stuff of songs, mummer’s plays, and children’s stories. The hair that every whore in every brothel from Lannisport to Qarth tried to imitate. The hair that brought all lords in Westeros to their knees when they laid eyes upon it. Those most famous locks were now in the hands of a man whose life revolved around pulling a piece of wood to the beat of a drum. _He no longer fears her_.

Dany shouted, moaned, grunted. She sounded every bit the helpless bedslave that the Titan’s Bastard and the Sons of the Harpy had tried to make her. Whores trained themselves to make the sounds that Dany was making, but this was no trick to make the man feel she was worth the coin. _He spent no coin_. Her eyes widened and a twisted smile came to her face. “Fuck. Fuck. Yes. Yes. Take me. Rape me like some slut from the Arbor. Harder. _Fuck!_ “

 _She’s there_. Irri could read it on her face. Dany threw her body back onto the man’s cock with all her weight, forcing it as deeply into her as she could, grabbing the sheets to hold herself in place. With each backward thrust the screams grew more intense until her whole body shuddered, her eyes rolled back in her head, and she finally relaxed her whole body and became the quivering, broken beast that Irri had had become for her so long ago.

But the oarsman was not done, and past his fear of treating the Queen as anything more than a broodmare. The rhythm of flesh on flesh got faster and faster as the oarsman’s grunts turned into moans. _He’s almost there too_. It suddenly dawned on Irri that this man may plant his seed in her.

But Dany had other notions. Suddenly, she kicked back at him and knocked him off of his rhythm and out of her cunt. “No. You’re done.” That caught the oarsman by surprise. He had forgotten that the Queen could strip a man of his rights just as quickly as she could grant them. Dany flipped onto her back. He started toward her to pull her knees apart, but thought better of it when Dany pushed herself up to her knees on the bed and stared him down as she had once stared down Drogon in Daznak’s pit.

“Move one more step and Blue Dog will skewer you like a lamb.” He was mid-step when she said that, and almost tripped trying to stop himself.

Dany rolled Irri over and picked her up. Before she knew what was happening, the back of Irri’s head was resting against Dany’s chest, and Dany was forcing her jaw open.  Irri was too spent to resist. “Spill your seed in here,” she commanded, pointing to Irri’s mouth. “That’s what she’s for.” Those words were a punch to the gut.

The man looked down at her sadly. _Does he pity me, or does he still want her cunt?_ Irri reckoned it was the latter. It was all she could do to hope he would not simply close his eyes and fuck her mouth like was fucking the Queen. She looked back up into his eyes, trying to remind him she was a human being and hoping that meant something to him. _At their mercy, and hoping for scraps of their pity_. It made her sick, but something about it was freeing. _It’s simpler when there’s naught to do but obey_.

All hope of mercy evaporated at Dany’s command. “Don’t go easy on this one. Treat her just like you were treating me.” Dany shoved her mouth onto the man’s cock and held it there. “Fuck her all the way down her pretty little throat, I command it.”

And he obeyed. Irri coughed, gasped, gagged, and cried. It was all she could do not to vomit. She kicked wildly at first, but Dany sat on her legs, reducing her to thrashing back and forth. His cock tasted like filth and sweat and Dany’s sublime cunt.

Suddenly there was warm breath near her ear. “Keep fighting and I swear it to your made-up horse god, I’ll let every man on this ship do it for a copper,” Dany warned softly, calmly, almost soothingly. She bit her earlobe, grinding it between her teeth, and an instant later kissed her on her tear-soaked cheek. Irri could feel Dany’s cunt grinding against her ass. If she’d had a cock, it would be inside her. _She loves how my tears taste. I’ve pleased her_. At least that gave her comfort.

Dany handed a clump of Irri’s hair to the oarsman. “Here, do what you will with her. Finish.”

The man became merciless as he came closer to the point of no return. _Think of anything but this_. Irri finally managed to tell herself. At that moment, Dany slid back, pried her knees apart, and put two fingers inside her. And suddenly everything else was gone. Dany had a way with her hands that could make Irri melt into a puddle at the slightest touch. She knew all of the spots inside and out; how to stroke her fingers and roll her thumb. Irri did not want to feel such pleasure in this moment, though. _If I’m not careful I’ll start to confuse the two_. But she knew that was the point, and had no choice but to succumb. She felt herself clenching and pulsing against Dany’s fingers, and her fingers reacted like she were playing a harp. As the man spilled his warm seed down her throat, Irri felt herself clench up and drench Dany’s fingers. Her screams were ecstasy and discomfort, revulsion and craving, all mixed into one emotion that she only felt when she was in abject submission to her _Khaleesi_ ’s will.

Irri and the oarsman collapsed next to each other on the bed; Irri on her stomach, the oarsman on his back. Dany removed herself from Irri, retrieved the dirk from the corner of the mattress, and began to cut her free from the rope. Once Irri’s arms were free, Dany unstraddled her.

“Fetch me that washcloth,” she commanded, as soon as Irri was free.

Irri’s arms were stiff, her legs were weak, and her cunt was sore, but she obeyed, while Dany sat atop her new toy and kissed him passionately. Irri waited a moment until she was finished before handing her the washcloth.

“Thank you, sweetling,” she smiled. As she was using the washcloth to clean the dirk, she looked over to Blue Dog, who immediately snapped to attention. She motioned at the oarsman with her eyes. “Hold his mouth open.”

The oarsman had not yet realized what was happening when the Unsullied grabbed his jaw and locked it. He began flailing with all his strength, but it was futile as Dany had pinned his shoulders down with her knees.

“You’re not to tell anyone what happened here tonight,” she explained, leaning over him as she heated the knife over a candle next to the bed. “Understood?” He nodded in terror.

“Good.” She reached into his mouth and grabbed his tongue. “Remember, sweetling? Just pretend I’m Euron and do as you’re bid.”

The shriek the oarsman let out as Dany sliced into his tongue with the hot knife was one of the worst sounds Irri had ever heard. Worse than the sheep that morning, as it catapulted to its fiery death. _It’s just like Astapor. She knew exactly what she was doing from the start._ In truth, it would have been a mercy to simply feed him to the dragons. With a dragon, it would have been over in a few heartbeats. _This one will have to live with tonight until he no longer lives._

The Queen of Westeros cut all the way through his tongue in one stroke. When she was done, she held it up, admired it with an almost triumphant look on her face, and casually tossed it at Irri. “Burn this.”

Irri threw her hands up and screamed in revulsion as the tongue bounced off her chest and hit the floor like a dead fish. Dany chuckled at that. Disgusted, Irri picked it up with two fingers and dropped it as quickly as she could into the brazier. It twisted, curled, and cracked as it burned, and reeked of the all-too-familiar stench of burning flesh. When she looked back, Dany had stuffed the washcloth into the oarsman’s mouth. It was starting to turn red with blood. It was the same washcloth Dany had used to clean her finger after it had been in the man’s ass. All she wanted was to wretch, and only the gods knew how she stopped herself.

The oarsman had broken out into a cold sweat, and his breathing was growing shallow, his screams weaker.

“Hush, sweetling,” Dany told him calmly. “Go to sleep. You must rest, that’s all. This was all a dream. It will be better in the morning. There we are, that’s it,” she stroked his cheek and smiled down at him as he began to pass out from the pain. “Go to sleep.”

Once he had gone limp, Dany dismounted and turned to Blue Dog. “Deal with this. Tether him to the foot of the bed. If he wakes up, beat him until he goes back under, but don’t kill him.” _‘Don’t kill him.’ Does she mean that as a mercy?_

“This one is pleased to obey, Your Grace.” He took the oarsman by the arm and dragged him off the bed, did as he was commanded, and stood back in the corner in his resting stance. Irri was paralyzed with fear, saying nothing and remaining completely still. _The tales say a dragon won’t notice you if you don’t move._ But the dragon was gone, and the woman could see her.

“I should not have done that,” Dany confessed, collapsing onto the bed.

 _This must be a trick. She must not be done_. “It is your birthright, _Khaleesi_. He is yours to command, as am I. It is known.” _The safe answer_.

“No. We both know that’s not true.” Irri was out of ideas. “Come here.”

Irri hesitated and stared at the dirk, still in Dany’s hand. A pained look came across the Queen’s face as she realized what was happening.

“Here.” She held the dirk between two fingers, like Irri had held the oarsman’s tongue, and tossed it into the opposite corner of the room. “Do what you like with it.” Her purple eyes pleaded with Irri to trust in her sincerity.

Irri was accustomed to ignoring the voice in her mind that screamed at her not to do something, if the Queen had commanded she do it. _If she wanted to kill me, she could do it without a knife. She could kill me with a pillow, like she did with Drogo._ The thought disturbed her. She had forgotten about that. _She’s always had it in her to kill with her own hands_.

Irri laid down next to her, and Dany pulled her close and kissed her on the mouth. It was a soft kiss that grew more passionate, but stayed slow the whole time. She noticed something amiss about Dany’s lower lip. It was quivering. When she went to run her fingers through Dany’s hair, her hand brushed against a tear that had begun to stream down her face. When she broke the kiss, Dany tried to compose herself, kissed Irri one more time, rolled over, and closed her eyes.

At a loss for what to do, Irri blew out the candle and put her arm around the Queen, kissed her softly on her neck, and tried to sleep herself. The whole night had twisted her mind into knots. _I should flee. I should kill her. I should tell someone what I saw._ But she knew she would never do that. It would only mean her own death, if not by Blue Dog, then by the Queen’s Justice, for treason and slander. Instead, she did her duty, edged closer, and comforted the woman who had just made a strange man rape her as an amusement.

Neither of them slept well, but at first light came a loud knock at the door. Dany rolled over, away from the sound and away from the rest of the world. Irri got up and staggered over to open it and find Grey Worm fully dressed.

“We are nearing Dragonstone. We shall dock within the hour.” he reported, noticing the unconscious man slumped at the foot of her bed, but not reacting. _He wouldn’t react if he walked in on Daenerys eating lemon cakes with Sansa Stark and the Night’s King, as long as she seemed content with it_. “The captain bids Her Grace come and see.”

Irri turned around. “ _Khaleesi?_ “

Dany rolled back over, groaned, stretched, and sat up, bleary-eyed. “I will come as soon as I’m ready,” she muttered, her speech slurred. “Sweetling, fetch my clothes. Grey Worm, come in.” She pointed to the oarsman as he entered. “I will explain that when we get on deck. Help Blue Dog carry him up.”

When she had made herself presentable, Dany shook herself off, took a deep breath, straightened her posture, and assumed her regal persona. She did her best to appear well-rested as she climbed the stairs, with Irri and the rest of them trailing behind her.

A drizzle had begun to fall. The captain was standing on the deck near the rail. Dany came on deck just as he gave the order to retract the oars and prepare to throw the ropes to the soldiers standing on the dock. The ship was so busy that no one took notice of her, and the captain was startled when he turned around to see her standing right in front of him.

He knelt. “Dragonstone, Your Grace.”

Dany motioned to Blue Dog and Grey Worm, who carried the Oarsman over and dumped him unceremoniously between the captain and the Queen. The captain looked up at her, shocked. She gave him a steely glare.

“This one was drunk. He got past my guard, said crude and vile things to me, and tried to force his tongue down my throat. I had no choice but to defend my honor.” Dany used her command voice, never unlocking her eyes from the captain’s.

“My—my deepest apologies, Your Grace,” he pleaded, his face white with fear. “He is new to the _Prince Rhaegar_.” he lied, “I will be sure to punish him severely. My men know better than this.” _They know better than to accept an invitation to Daenerys Stormborn’s bedchamber?_

Dany motioned for the captain to rise and took his hand. “This is not your fault, friend. Men sometimes mistake me for any other woman,” she smiled. “My journey was a pleasure and I shall look forward to sailing with you again.”

The captain bowed. “Your Grace does me a great honor.”

“See that your men bring my things quickly. Irri will help them pack my chests. Send for Tyrion. We have business to discuss with Lady Asha before he sails for Braavos. My compliments again.” With that, Dany stepped over the oarsman like a puddle of nightsoil, bid her two Unsullied to follow her, and strode down the plank.


	3. Daenerys II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I will ask more of you than any _Khal_ has ever asked of his _Khalsar_."
> 
> \--Daenerys, _Game of Thrones_ Season 6, Episode 6

Dany could feel Aegon's cock grinding against her ass as he lay next to her.  _Seven hells, finally._ Aegon was still half asleep, and his morning erection was acting on its own accord. More like than not, he did not even realize it. Dany was barely more conscious than he was, but her body had ached to be fucked since he got off his horse the day before. Aegon's body, however, had simply ached. "It's been a long ride, my dear. On the morrow," he had told her when she tried to mount him the night before.  _Well, it's the morrow,_ she reasoned, as she rolled over, slid down, and ran her tongue up the length of his shaft. 

Aegon had been away in the Riverlands, visiting lords, handing out food to the smallfolk, and learning how the Crown could be of best use to the rebuilding effort. Tyrion had recommended that the King journey to Maidenpool, up to the Twins, and back by way of Riverrun and Harrenhal. "It's important that they know you care about their plight," the Hand explained. 

The Riverlands had been troubled since Ned Stark sent a party to hunt down Gregor Clegane, but by the end of the War it was an utter wasteland. Hardly a building still stood, and even those made of stone were reduced to rubble and burnt-out shells. The earth was scorched, fertile land was scarce, and whole towns sat empty.

Dany could not have agreed more with Tyrion's idea. She knew the Realm needed to see the Targaryens doing more than burning castles and sending hordes of Dothraki screaming through their fields. But most importantly, she supported anything that would get him far away from King's Landing and give her time with her precious fuck toy. She missed Irri already.

She teased the head of Aegon's cock with her tongue, looking up at him to see if he had woken up. He kept his eyes closed, but swung his hand lazily to the side of her head and ran his fingers through her hair, gripping it and pulling her head onto him.  _Good_ , she thought, and took him into her mouth.

Aegon's hips began to roll more deliberately, and Dany knew she had his attention. Sucking her husband's had become rote to her. After sucking slowly until he was near the back of her throat, she opened her mouth, ran her flat tongue over the underside of his shaft, just below where it met the head, pressed her upper lip against the top of his head, sucked, and then let her lip and tongue slide off of him before taking him in her mouth again. She knew exactly what he liked, and how he would respond.  _One more of those, and he'll be ready to fuck me._

Dany felt about Aegon's cock the way she imagined Drogon felt about a tethered sheep; not as satisfying as one she had hunted and conquered herself, but enough to sate the craving, and undeniably convenient. As she closed her eyes and sucked, her body still half yearning for sleep, Dany's mind wandered again to whether this man would ever be enough for her. Maybe as she got older, her lust would temper.  _But is he even my nephew? Is he Illyrio's bastard? Some purple-eyed babe he bought from a desperate mother for the spare gold in his pocket?_

She would never know for sure, more like than not, and at this point it made no matter. Still, she pondered what she would need before she could put him to the question. It would almost certainly yield an honest answer, and the man could use a good, sharp questioning. Aegon was not an utterly weak man, but he was a breakable man. All men were, but when this one broke, he would completely shatter. She could sense it. She wanted to see it happen. She wanted to do it herself. She wanted him to suffer. The thought of suffering men got her cunt wet. And if he meant to fuck her, she needed something to make it ready for him.

Still not entirely awake, Aegon tapped gently on her arm; his signal for her to get on her back. She complied, hungrily. The last time she'd been fucked was the oarsman on the way to Dragonstone. She needed a cock inside of her, and his would do.

Somewhere in the process of rolling on top of her, Aegon woke up. He looked down into her eyes, lovingly, lustily, but as always, slightly intimidated. He was the King, but she had the dragons, so she ruled the Realm. It did not sit well with him, but there was naught he could do, and he contented himself with being a figurehead, though he took great pains to never acknowledge what he was. As he positioned his cock outside of her and pushed himself in, a sense of relief washed over her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. 

"Good morning," he smiled, in an attempt at wit.

 _Fool._ "Fuck me, sweet nephew. Hard. I need your cock, I've missed it." It was true enough, she supposed. 

As she gripped his back, her mind fixated on the word "nephew." She ignored her doubt about his parentage and imagined that she knew for certain that he was Rhaegar's. Then she imagined he  _was_  Rhaegar. Then she moaned, scratched down his back, and looked up into his eyes.

"Fuck me. Please, please, fuck me. Harder.  _Fuck_ , that's good." She had never seen Rhaegar's face; all she knew was that the singers called it beautiful. Beautiful men were everywhere, and she could have whomever she chose. It was the notion of fucking her brother that aroused her so.  _The Lannister twins fucked in this very bed, more like than not. They lost the Realm for it. Cersei died for it. They're mocked by mummers from Dorne to the Wall. But I could fuck my brother on the steps of Baelor and they'd build a shrine on the spot._  That made her wetter.  _He's my nephew and they all bent the knee for us. No High Septons, no Small Councils, no Masters of Laws can thwart my will. I am the Dragon and I do as I please._  She knew it wasn't true, not as much as she'd like it to be. But she  _needed_  to feel that way, if just for a moment.  _Power resides where I say it does, and I say it resides with ME_. Aegon was not known for his endurance, and this morning was no exception. She was so lost in thought about fucking Rhaegar in front of all of King's Landing that she'd almost missed it. 

But it made no matter. If Aegon was good for anything, it was cleaning up his own mess. He leaned down, kissed her slowly, passionately, and then slid down between her thighs. She ran her fingers through his hair as he went to work, still thinking of Rhaegar, of Jon, of Irri, and of the oarsman. The oarsman took her over the edge. She had never left a wound on a lover that would stay with him forever.  _I need fresh meat,_  was the last thought that went through her mind as she screamed and pulled her husband's head into her for the final thrusts.

"Come here," she said softly, once it had passed. "Kiss me." And he did. And he tasted his lips, and his seed, and herself.

The afterglow would not last long, however, as there was a Small Council meeting to attend. Aegon had insisted on joining, even though he normally skipped them to hunt or hawk or play  _cyvasse_  with Jon Connington. But he was the King, and there was naught she could do to stop him, so they dressed together and made their way to the Small Council chambers.

Dany could sense the grim mood as soon as she walked in the room.  _Oh,_ w _hat now?_  Dany and Aegon stood at opposite heads of the table. To her immediate left was Lord Varys,still Master of Whisperers, _"and Bolted to the Floor,"_ Tyrion had named him once. To her right was the Grand Maester, Samwell Tarly, whom Dany adored, in part because the poor man was quite clearly terrified of her. Today, however, he looked just as solemn as the rest of them. Dany smiled at him and got the flash of fear she loved so much.  _Good boy._  Next to Sam was Arianne Martell, her Mistress of Laws,  _and soaker of cunts_ ; and across from her was Gendry Baratheon, Commander of the Goldcloaks,  _and deputy soaker of cunts._  Missandei, Irri, some Goldcloaks, and her Queensguard lined the walls on either side.

Dany appointed Arianne and Gendry to the Small Council in an effort to improve the administration of justice.  _And to keep Dorne and the Stormlands happy_ , she conceded to herself,  _but mostly for justice_. 

Before the dessert had been cleared away at her coronation feast, Dany had decreed that henceforth, the Realm would be governed by Dornish law, which allowed women and bastards to inherit and forbade men from beating their wives. There was no consultation with Tyrion or anyone else, no gaming out which lordlings would get their smallclothes bunched up over losing a spot in their line of succession, and no moralizing about how women need discipline from an absurd old man with a crystal hat that looked like a cock made of spun sugar on his head. She appointed Arianne the morning after, and it was done. Dany knew she could not rule Westeros solely by decree like she'd tried and failed to in Meereen, but she was adamant that she would not be Queen of a land that considered her a lesser person than half her subjects. "Anyone with an objection is welcome to come and tell me to my face," she told Tyrion when he warned her. No one came.

Gendry was a legitimized bastard and had spent most of his life as an apprentice in King's Landing. The lords of the Stormlands had clamored for a restoration of the Baratheon line, and despite her unease legitimizing the Usurper's bastard, she did so anyway. In retrospect, it was a wise decision. Jon Connington was nominally the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, but the Conningtons, and her dear husband, were less likely to make mischief when there was a Baratheon for the lesser lords to flock to. 

Dany also felt it was important that the man in charge of keeping the city safe be someone who understood its people and could treat them with respect, and who knew the city's underbelly just as well as the base of Aegon's High Hill. She had learned in Meereen that a column of stone-faced foreign eunuchs patrolling the streets made the people feel conquered and occupied, and led to resentment. When it was their own men, they felt protected and cared for.  _And he gives me something to gaze upon. At least I can thank the Usurper for that much._

Ruining all of this was Petyr Baelish, Lord Paramount of the Vale, swooping in just as she was about to sit, and dropping himself right between Varys and Gendry like a bird shitting in the soup at an outdoor feast. 

Varys could read Dany's face and interjected before it grew ugly. "There is a grievous and urgent matter before us, Your Grace. Lord Baelish believes he may be able to help."

"Very well." Dany locked eyes with him as she sat, glaring a warning at him.  _I can have Drogon here by evenfall. He'll help you until you're black and crispy._  Littlefinger had managed, against all odds, to escape execution at Jon's hands, Lady Sansa's, and Dany's. He had redeemed himself in the eyes of many, however, with his scheme to facilitate the lending of coin between lords and hasten the rebuilding effort.

Littlefinger had proposed to the lesser lords in the Vale that should one of them lend coin to another, he would pay the lender the full amount of the principal, plus four fifths of the agreed-upon interest, if the borrower failed to pay it back. If the loan was repaid in full, the lender would give Littlefinger one fifth of the interest he received. The lenders accepted the smaller profit if it meant Littlefinger bore the risk of loss. When the loans were repaid, Littlefinger made a handsome profit, and used it to back similar arrangements elsewhere. The more the lords lent amongst themselves, the more rebuilding could take place without the help of the Crown's own coffers. The less strain on the coffers, the more easily the Crown could repay its loan from the Iron Bank. 

Littlefinger became so confident in the scheme's success that he had begun to guarantee loans with coin he did not actually have, on the mere expectation that he will have earned it by the time it would be necessary to pay. Dany misliked that. It defied reason. 

"How can you pledge coin you don't have? What if so many lords default at the same time that you can't pay on all your promises?" She asked him once. He so helpfully explained that she should not concern herself with whether his scheme would succeed, because he had been Master of Coin when she was still a child, and that women are better at spending money than making it. She would have had his tongue on the spot, but Tyrion intervened and she settled for dismissing him from the meeting at spearpoint. 

Littlefinger had further persuaded the Council, and Tyrion, that the fact that his grandfather was a Braavosi merchant made him the only man in Westeros who could treat with the Iron Bank. Dany was convinced he was playing her false and conspiring with the Bank for his own profit, so she had decreed that Samwell would send and receive all of his messages, by raven or otherwise, whenever he was in King's Landing. She was at the end of her rope with the man, and he knew it.  _Yet now here he stands_.

The rest of the Council sat once Dany and Aegon were seated. "What is this grievous and urgent matter before us, Lord Varys?"

Without speaking, Varys picked up a purple velvet pouch from under his seat, placed it in his lap, and dumped its contents on the table. "Gifts, Your Grace," he explained sadly, "from the First Sword of Braavos."

Dany's heart sank. On the table were a Hand of the Queen pin, and an Unsullied helm.  _Gods be good, already? Who warned them?_  She closed her eyes and sighed, not daring to look at Littlefinger because she needed some proof this was his doing before she could kill him with her bare hands.

"Are they dead?"

"No, Your Grace. There is a letter in Lord Tyrion's hand." He retrieved it from one of the many pockets up his sleeve. "It attests that he, Grey Worm and Lady Arya are safe and well cared-for. But he says that the Braavosi intend to keep them until you and King Jon sign a treaty promising not to interfere with their internal affairs or commerce in slaves."

 _Lovely._ She turned to Sam. "Get a raven to Winterfell."

"At once, Your Grace." Sam rose and left hastily.

"Irri," the girl stepped forward.  _Get under this table and worship my fucking cunt like your life depends on it._  "The Dothraki are known to roll sourleaves together, light them and breathe in the smoke. Do you remember those?"

"Of course,  _Khaleesi_."

"I suspect I will need some of those before this is over. Go down to whatever winesinks the Dothraki screamers frequent. Get as many as you can find."

"At once,  _Khaleesi._ " Dany watched her pretty little ass bounce out the door, wanting nothing more than to grow a cock and fuck it bloody.

_Burn it down. Bugger it all. Bugger Tyrion and Grey Worm and Arya, bugger the Iron Bank, bugger every preening little shit at this table, bugger the First Sword of the green cloud of dust that used to be Braavos, and bugger his hideous velvet pouch in particular. I will summon Drogon this instant. He will be here by evenfall, and Braavos will be gone by dawn. What is so hard for them to grasp? If you sell slaves, your city burns. It's that simple._

But she could not say that. She knew she must dance the dance first. "What are our options, my lords?"  _You all know what I want to do. Please give me something else._

Silence hung over the room. Dany's look grew more impatient, making everyone more fearful of speaking. Finally, her gaze turned to Littlefinger.

"What say you, Master of Braavos?" Her voice was dripping with contempt.

Petyr Baelish knew the entire room hated him, most of all the Queen, yet he was just as smug as on the day they gave him Harrenhal.

"I would suggest we treat with them, Your Grace."  _Of course you would_. He was repulsive enough when he sat silent, but his voice, and the way he condescended her, made her skin crawl. "I would wager that the Iron Bank could remedy this unfortunate situation if we made another payment on the principal of our loan, and agreed to a slightly higher interest rate on the balance." 

 _Does he take me for a fool?_ "Lord Gendry, do you have two coppers, by chance?"

"I believe so, Your Grace." Gendry was good-natured and simply wanted to do his duty.  _He would be so beautiful on his knees at my feet._

"Good. Take those two coppers and sail to Braavos. Leave one at the door of the Iron Bank, then come back here and hand the other to Littlefinger. It's simpler that way." She heard Varys suck his breath in through his teeth, and a chuckle from Arianne. Her eyes dared Lord Baelish to deny it, but he sank back in his chair and kept his mouth shut.  _I've learned to play your game; now you're learning to play mine._

She looked around the room once more. "None of the sharpest minds in Westeros have a real plan?"  _You do realize what will happen if no one suggests otherwise, don't you? You must!_

Aegon chimed in. "Before you decide, you should appoint an acting Hand, Your Grace." That caught her off guard. "It will help you come up with a plan. Like Tyrion would do. There is no need to act this instant. Take a few days. Play it all out in your head before you act. You're a woman of strong principles, my love. But sometimes you would benefit from some wise counsel." 

It was not the worst idea, but she misliked how he said it.

"And who would you suggest as acting Hand?"

"Perhaps I should, at least for the nonce." 

The silence hanging over the room grew thicker and more tense.  _YOU?_  Dany could not muster any words that she could say in front of others, and was stifling a laugh regardless.

"Any doubt about the unity of our House would be a sign of weakness," he continued.  _Did he just call me weak?_ Someone must have put him up to this, Dany was sure of it. It was a master stroke. She could not put him back in his place, lest she prove his point. 

Her mind moved the imaginary  _cyvasse_  pieces all over the board.  _I could put him in the dungeons this instant, but I'd be named a tyrant. I could charge him with the rescue mission instead, but he's an utter fool and would get them killed for naught._  Her only choice in front of the Council was to agree to it and plan her next move later.

"I think that would be wise." She was as pleasant as she could be, but the words tasted like bile in her mouth, and she had to hide the surprise, uneasiness, and resignation in her voice. "Aegon of the House Targaryen, I name you acting Hand in Lord Tyrion's absence." 

Dany made all the right noises for the rest of the meeting, but the Dragon stirred as soon as she and Aegon were out of earshot of the rest of them, on their way back to their chambers, flanked by the Queensguard.

"Care to explain what that was about, my dear husband?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you take me for a fool? You said precisely what those who would have my head on a spike say. That I'm mad. That I can't be trusted to make decisions. That it's only a matter of time before I burn the world down."

"Had I held my tongue, Drogon would be on his way here, and a raven on its way to Dragonstone with orders to ready the wildfire. Might be you would stop the slave trade, but you would kill thousands, including two of your closest advisors and friends, and your closest ally's own beloved cousin. To someone who does not live inside your own mind, is what they say so absurd?" They both knew the answer, but Dany did not want to admit it. "You're a Targaryen. The gods flipped their coin. Yours is still spinning on the table."

"And your coin? I have yet to see it, truth be told." 

Aegon leaned in closer. "You just did."

 _So this is the way of it_ , she thought, as they reached the door to their chambers. _Very well._ "I saw a smug, grasping man whose only contributions to the War were to surrender his army and fuck me. The only coin I've ever seen from you has come from Illyrio's pocket."

"Oh, right, Father, you mean!" He mocked.

"Mayhaps we'll ask the Realm what they think." 

"Go ahead, proclaim me your 'Mummer's Dragon.' No mummer's dragon ever burnt a city of innocents to the ground."

That hurt. "I'm sleeping in the Hand's chambers tonight."

"By all means, please do, my love. All I ask is that you go easy on your handmaiden tonight. She's only a savage. It's not her fault." He smiled and shut the door, and Dany went white.

Dany spent that evening in the Hand's chamber, reading by the brazier just as voraciously as Tyrion Lannister ever had, and trying her best to escape the fear that Aegon's remark had put into her.  _What does he know? Who told him? How can I stop him? What would I do if he told?_  She had told no one, of course, but the fear consumed her more than the threat of war.

She had commanded Samwell to bring her any books he could find that discuss any previous attempt to take Braavos by land. And he did. None of them had succeeded. She hated it, but she knew Littlefinger was right, and that she must at least attempt to treat with them, doubtful as she was that it would succeed.  _I'm a woman. No one surrenders to me until they're staring into the dragon's mouth._

As she finished her fourth tale of a foreign fleet breaking itself on the rocks under the Titan, she could no longer resist the need to make water. She had been trying avoid the privy in the Hand's chamber. All she could picture was Tywin Lannister's stinking corpse with Tyrion's crossbow bolt in it.She saw herself in Tywin's place, alone, facing some murderer that her mind's eye could not quite identify. A shadowy, amorphous figure with no face.  _Aegon? Tyrion? Have I betrayed him? Become the Mad Queen? Cersei with Silver Hair? Is it Illyrio? Did he truly mean to help me all along? Was I wrong that he wanted to sell me? Should I have given him a lordship, and not fed him to the dragons, looted his manse and taken his ships? Or Jon? For putting Lady Arya in harm's way because I'm a stubborn cunt who can't just leave it be?_ As she finished, there was a meek knock on the door, and she called for them to enter. The dim light from brazier revealed Irri's face, but it was the only light in the room save for a small candle, and its shadow was cast all over her.

She seemed blissfully ignorant that anyone had threatened to expose them. In her hands was a small box of sourleaf rolls. She could not see Dany in the threshold of the privy. " _Khaleesi?_ " 

Dany wanted to hold her; to kiss her; to flay her alive; to mount her head on a spike; to fuck her; to run away with her and never speak of any of this again; to beat her bloody and mark her face with her cunt. She had no proof that Irri had told anyone, but who else could it be?

"Sit, sweetling," she smiled, emerging into the center of the room and pointing to a seat by the brazier, opposite where she had been reading.  _I cannot do this tonight._

Irri sat, and placed the box on a small table next to her. 

The Queen took a sourleaf roll from the box, put it to her lips, and lit it with the candle. The smoke filled her lungs and spread through her, making her head feel as if it were floating. She sat, closed her eyes, leaned back, and savored the fleeting weakness it made her feel.

"Today was a hard day, was it not?"

"It was,  _Khaleesi_. May I pleasure your royal body to melt it all away?" Dany had taught the girl to phrase such questions as a request for permission; not an offer to fulfill an obligation. She needed to learn that the pain and torment Dany gave her was a high privilege. Dany relished that, as she put the sourleaf back to her lips. She could grind her cunt on the girl's face all she wanted, but when it was over, soon or late Irri would wash it off, and it would be as if it never happened. But the damage she did on the inside would stay with her forever. 

In the market in the newly-freed Volantis, they saw a merchant who made sculptures by beating copper, and twisting it into different shapes. In some ways, Dany envied him.  _He spends his days pounding away at it, twisting it until it's exactly how he wants it._ He had no other care or burden in the world. No armies, no enemies, no alliances, no Small Council.  _It must have been so peaceful for him. To think of naught but how to beat and twist and bend that raw sheet of copper until it was precisely as he pleased._ Dany was not so fortunate. She could beat the copper skin of her sweet slut, but she could only twist her mind, and so she savored every reminder of the perfect, obedient whore she had sculpted her into. 

When her mind was not so clouded by lust, she knew that no matter how Irri phrased the question, this was not a privilege on her part. She may have grown to love it, but the privilege was Daenerys Stormborn's, the Mother of Dragons, to hurt this poor girl and know that naught would come of it.  _Is that the truth of it, though?_

"Perhaps," Dany finally responded, after a long silence. She looked at Irri's eyes. There was an eagerness that pleased her, but an uneasiness as well.

"Thank you,  _Khaleesi._  How else may I be of service?"

 _Confess that you told our secret so that I may have your head and be done with it._  "Get me some wine."

The girl rose to search for a flagon, as Dany watched her move. She loved every curve of that body, and could watch it all day. It was small and vulnerable, and made her want to do so many wicked things. She was leering, maliciously, the way so many men had leered at her;  _Khals_ , slavers, sellswords and sailors who didn't know better. But they were all dead, and most died screaming.  _Could she do the same to me?_ The thought unnerved her. She could not conceive of how she would, but neither could her father conceive that Jaime Lannister would drive a sword through his back,  _nor could Lord Tywin conceive that his own son would murder him, right where I was just having a piss_. Suddenly, Dany was fearful.  _It can't be her. The walls have eyes. They're here now. They must be_.

The girl came back with her wine and set it in her hands. Dany took a sip.

"Kneel," she commanded, sweetly. The girl dropped to her knees, looking up at her with nothing but love and devotion in her dark brown, almond-shaped eyes. It reminded Dany of the way her dragons looked at her when they were babes. Their entire world revolved around her; her mood, her whims, her choice to feed them, or not, or make them work for it.  _She couldn't have done it_. Dany smiled down, rested her feet on the girl's knees and dug her toes into the soft, warm flesh of her thighs.  _If she did, could I truly give her up?_  Dany had planned to finish one last chapter on an attempt by the Lyseni to enter Braavos under a peace banner and attack from within, but she knew she'd had enough for the evening. Her sourleaf was almost finished. "Put your tongue out."

Irri presented her tongue. Dany took the sourleaf and pressed the smoldering end onto the girl's tongue, pinching it with her other hand so she couldn't snap her slutty little mouth shut like the insolent cunt she was. The tears welling in her eyes were moistening Dany's cunt as she pressed and ground the sourleaf into her tongue.  _Stop when they start to roll down her face, but not before._

It happened too soon for Dany's liking, but she thought it best to show mercy until the girl had had a chance to learn. "We shall work on that." She slapped her weak little face. "That's for being so quick to tears."

"Thank you,  _Khaleesi_. Please teach me what it means to suffer." 

Dany put her foot to Irri's mouth and she went to work, needing no further instruction. It tickled a little, but there was something immensely satisfying to watch this girl kiss the soles of her feet. She'd had her feet kissed before, by mobs of freed slaves to show their gratitude, and while there was gratitude in Irri's eyes tonight, this was different. She wasn't merely adoring her  _Khaleesi_ , as a good slut should; she was debasing herself for her amusement. These were not light, sweet kisses. They were hungry. They were desperate. With them came long, deep breaths through her nose; loving rubs that relaxed Dany's entire body, and a tongue blissfully licking the dirt from between each of her toes.  _She sucks them like she sucks a cock,_ Dany thought. And if there's one thing a wanton savage whore does well, it's suck a cock.

Dany sipped her wine, touched her cunt, observed this girl in abject worship of her, and pondered.  _I must know,_ she told herself.  _I'd be a fool to pretend that Aegon didn't say what he did_. She was right, of course, but this felt too good.  _Later. If he already knows, one more time won't hurt._ The sensations in her feet when Irri did this for her were more arousing than she would have thought before the first time she felt them, but her cunt was still the center of this girl's world; it was her purpose; her god; and Dany was growing wetter and wanted more and more to remind her of it.

"That's enough, sweetling."

Irri looked up. Dany looked down at her and spread her legs ever so slightly. She no longer needed words for most of her commands. The girl smiled, like a child eyeing a sweet in her hand, and slowly moved her head toward Dany's wet, coated thighs.

"Slowly for now. I'm tired. I need to feel worshipped." Soon or late, she would become much rougher, but for now, Dany simply craned her neck back, arched her back, and ran her fingers through Irri's hair as she did her job. She began to moan softly, but her pleasure was muted by a disturbing thought.  _Am I taking my pleasure from a_ _traitor_ _? Is she doing this so I will come to depend on her?_  She decided to broach the subject ever so lightly.

"Sweetling?" She pushed Irri's head into her crotch so she knew not to stop just yet. "Has anyone ever asked you how I treat my servants?" 

Irri looked up into Dany's eyes and shrugged.  _My gods, those eyes._

"Speak, slut. I don't know what that means."

Irri took her mouth off Dany's cunt just enough so it wouldn't muffle her words. "Now and again,  _Khaleesi_ _,_ " she explained, still teasing Dany's clit with her tongue between words. "New girls, mostly." She picked up where she started, while Dany pondered if she had seen any new girls around the Red Keep lately. None came to mind, but that meant little. Handmaidens were abundant at court. There was always a new one coming or going, and Dany had stopped trying to remember each face.

"What do you tell them?"

A flash of concern crossed Irri's face. "That you are kind; you treat me well. That you're open-handed, and you care for my happiness." Dany was not entirely satisfied with that; surely Irri knew what she wanted to hear, and she regretted asking a question with such an obvious right answer. But her cunt was more dissatisfied with the interruption than her mind was. She pulled the girl's head back to her crotch, rolled her hips into her face, and set her back to work.

As her pleasure became more intense, so did her urge to give this slut the pain she deserved. And so did the nagging feeling that the more she let her lap away at her cunt like nothing had happened, the bigger the fool she was making herself. She abruptly yanked the girl's hair back and glared down at her.

"That's all you tell them?" Irri looked up at her, confused, like she had forgotten what Dany was referring to. Dany smacked her across the face with her palm, and again with her backhand. "Answer me. You don't tell them what a depraved whore I've made you?"

Irri's eyes widened. "No,  _Khaleesi_ , of course not!"

 _Don't 'of course' me, slut. I don't know what you do when you're off wherever whores go_. She slapped her again. "You're certain?"

Irri's voice began to shake and she looked as if she was about to cry. It wasn't the slap to her face. She could take much worse than that before she cried.  _Is this fear of being punished for something she didn't do? Or_ _does she have something to confess_ _?_  "I would never,  _Khaleesi_ , I swear it!"

Dany had had enough. She kicked the girl back onto her elbows, straddled her and pinned her down by the neck.  _If he wanted me to go easy on her, he should have held his tongue._ "Don't lie to me, cunt!" She squeezed her slut's throat harder, watching her struggle to breathe.  _I know, I could kill you right now. They'd find your corpse with the juice of my cunt all over it._ "It's your head if you lie to me. Do you forget who I am?!  _Do you?!!_ "

Irri frantically shook her head no. Her face was turning purple, her eyes bulging as she reached for Dany's arm. Dany grabbed her hand, twisted her wrist, and when she recoiled, reached back smacked her cunt. She let out a beautifully pathetic, terrified squeal. 

 _I am not some foreign Queen. She is not some eastern curiosity to show off at court. I am the one true_ Khaleesi _of all her people. I murdered the_ Khals  _who challenged me. I stood in a blaze, watched their eyes melt from their faces, and emerged unburnt before all of Vaes Dothrak. She forgets herself_. Dany positioned herself and began to grind her cunt against Irri, switching to her native Dothraki, to remind her who she was. "I will have you raped to death by every horse in my stables," she promised, grinding, raping her, body and mind. "They'll rip your asshole open wide enough so I can reach into it and feed you your own shit while you bleed out." With each thrust of her hips she broke the girl a little more. "You're not  _good_  enough for the headsman's block. You're not  _good_  enough for dragon fire. You're not  _good_  enough for the stake. You're not  _good_  enough for the flaying knife. If you must  _die_ , you will die as you were  _meant_  to live; as  _human_   _fodder_  for the  _Dragon_  inside me to  _consume_."

Dany felt something warm and wet between her legs; Irri had pissed herself from fear. She laughed at that, and felt herself growing closer to the height of her pleasure. Consumed with rage and lust, Dany pressed both her thumbs into the girl's throat, grinding furiously against her, as hard as she had ever ridden a man's cock.  _She will draw her last breath soon if I don't stop. I must stop. If I murder her, they'll believe whatever Aegon says._ But the feeling was too good.  _I must stop. This is too much. I love her. I would be lost without her._ All the feelings melted together into one blinding cloud in her mind. Rage and lust, fear, guilt, a desperate desire not to lose one of the only people who had served her without question and without serving her own interests first.  _Don't become your father, don't become your father, don't become your father. You're better than that. You're not Viserys. Viserys was no true dragon. You_ _are_ _your House's legacy. Don't let it die like this._  That was the only thought that could stop her.

Dany released her grip and cupped the girl's face as she gasped for breath. She wanted to convey love, and an unspoken apology, but her face was beyond her control as she came close to the edge. She leaned in to kiss her precious slut, to thank her for being so brave, and reassure her that she was safe, and would always be safe. But as their lips touched, Dany felt a sudden, sharp, blinding pain and tasted blood in her mouth as Irri's teeth dug into her tongue. She recoiled out of reflex, but before she could recover, she felt a sting on the left side of her face and felt herself roll onto her back. 

" _STOP! STOP! NO MORE! PLEASE! STOP!"_ Irri shouted as Dany looked up at her, stunned.  _Is this truly happening?_ The tip of her tongue was numb, and she felt warm blood in the back of her throat. She tried to spit it in Irri's face, but it only landed weakly on her own stomach.  _She's won_.

"No!" Dany put her hands up, defeated. 

Irri was still bombarding her. "Will you stop,  _Khaleesi_?! Will you  _stop_?!"

Dany nodded. "Yes! Yes! I'll stop." She tried to calm her voice as a gesture of sincerity. It was shaking. Nobody had struck Daenerys Stormborn since Viserys, and Viserys died screaming. But this girl cared not in the least.  _She knows I love her more than I ever loved that monster. Please, let that be true._

Irri released her and she rolled onto her side, coughing and gasping.

"Why,  _Khaleesi?!_ What have I ever done to you?!"  _She truly doesn't know._

"He knows about us," Dany told her, dragging herself up off her back and supporting herself on her elbows.

Irri's face grew concerned again. "Who knows?"

"Aegon."

"What does he know?" She was still on her knees, but towered over Dany, no longer in submission to her.

"I don't know. But he knows something. We quarreled."

"And you think I betrayed you?"

"I don't know who else it would be. Do you?"

"I would never do that,  _Khaleesi,_ I swear it!"

"Why should I believe you?"

"You answered your own question a moment ago."

Dany had no answer to that. The girl had the right of it.  _I should have let them kill me in the fighting pit. I should have let Euron do what he would with me._

"And if it were not that, it would be a headsman. For treasonous slander. Please don't deny it." She couldn't. "You may still think I'm playing you false. But please, for the love you say you bear me, if you mean to kill me, just slit my throat and be done with it. I have served you so faithfully and asked so little. Please, do me this one mercy." They were both wiping away tears. "If you mean to do it, do it."

Dany could not do it.  _I would be cutting out a part of myself._

"You know I would never do that. Right?"  _Right?!_

"You did not come this far to be undone by your serving girl," she continued. "You may love me, but you love your birthright more. There are many like me; there is only one Iron Throne."

"There are none like you."

"Then why do you do these things to me?"

 _Blood of the Dragon. Rage. Emptiness. Numbness. Because I can. Because it's all I know how to do. Because a Queen can never show weakness. Ever. Lest some man decide he's more fit to rule. Because to rid the world of monsters I had to become one. You choose_. "Because it makes me happy like nothing else. It makes me fall so deeply in love with you all over again each time I see you suffer. But I cherish you for letting me. No one else would do this for me." She paused. "I thought you knew."

"You've never said that before. How am I to know?"

"Do you want me to dismiss you? Do you want me to put you up in some manse, with servants of your own? You can live out your days in peace and want for nothing." She had earned it many times over.

"You are my  _Khaleesi_. I pledged my life to you, and you've done me a great honor by keeping me at your side all this time. And you've changed me. I want this now. I want the pain. I want to suffer for you. I want you to break me and build me up, and break me all over again. All I ask is to know that if I'm to give my life for you, it will be at the hands of a foe, not your own. If you cannot grant me that, then yes, I would beg your leave to be dismissed from your service. But I would be a girl without purpose. Wandering. Empty. And I do not want that. I want  _you,_ Daenerys. I want all the love and all the pain you have to give me."

"You have my word."

"I need more than that. You've said so many sweet words to me before, and just now you almost drained the life from me. I need to trust you."

No man had ever mistrusted Daenerys before. Some should have, but they peddled in treachery and deserved a taste of it themselves. To those she had no quarrel with, Dany prided herself as a woman of her word. "How can I convince you to trust me?" Her voice was breaking; her eyes pleading, begging.

Irri stood. "I don't know," she replied frankly. Still weak and sore, Dany lifted an arm up toward her, unable to pick up her own weight. Irri extended her forearm downward for Dany to grasp, and pulled her up. She could barely stand. Irri held her arm, put a hand on her shoulder, and guided her to the bed.

Now the most powerful, loved, hated, and feared woman in the world was curled up in the fetal position, shaking, blubbering, and sobbing into her pillow while her handmaiden, whom she almost murdered, lit a roll of sourleaf for herself and stroked her pure, silver hair. 

"I held you as you cried yourself to sleep the night you let that strange oarsman rape me. Do you remember?"

Dany was in no state to answer with words, so she mustered the strength to nod just enough for Irri to notice and respond.

"I cannot bring myself to do that again tonight. But I want to. I love you. I cannot bear to see you in pain, even when you need to feel it." 

Dany did not know what to do with that. She inched closer.

There was a knock at the door. Dany faced away from the bed, but did her best to compose herself so whoever it was could not see her shaking. She felt Irri get up to answer.

"The  _Khaleesi_  is asleep," she told the visitor. "She had taken ill earlier."

"Oh...well, would she like me to bring her something?" Maester Samwell asked.

 _No!_ Dany wanted naught to do with anyone but the filthy little slut who was her only source of strength and whom she'd almost extinguished for no good reason.

"No. She bid me not to disturb her. She needs rest, is all."

"Ah. Well, there's been a raven from Winterfell. The King in the North rides for White Harbor. He means to sail as soon as he can, with every ship he can spare."

Dany's ears stood up.

"He received a gift from Braavos as well, it would seem."

Her heart raced. She had not seen Jon since Castle Black, when he spent a fortnight making her cunt ache.  _He means to go to war._ She would worry about the war when she had grown back to more than just a hollowed out shell of a woman. Yet she could feel herself stirring.

"I will tell her," Irri replied, and shut the door.

When she returned to the bed, Dany looked up at her.

"Did you hear,  _Khaleesi?_ "

"Yes. Fetch Samwell before he gets too far. I will need dreamwine. I can't think about it now. I must regain my taste for it."

"For war?"

Dany stared forward blankly. "For fresh meat."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Jon I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Fortunately, the suitor is already on his knees."--Daenerys, _Game of Thrones_ Season 5, Episode 5

Jon hurried to the threshold of the Small Council chamber and grabbed Missandei's arm before she could start. "Forgive me, my lady, but can we forego the titles?" He was in no mood.

Missandei looked at Dany, who was already standing at the table next to Aegon. Dany nodded understandingly and waved him in. Jon entered, followed by Lord Davos, and Tormund, his Master of War.

The whole day had been superfluous fanfare. Dany and Aegon sent an honor guard to escort him from his ship when he arrived in King's Landing, and greeted him in the outer bailey of the Red Keep with half their court on hand as if neither had ever met him before. But he needed the Iron Throne's men to get Arya back, and the promise of their backing if it came to open war, so he had to endure it.

Save for Sam, Dany's was the only face Jon was glad to see. The last time he laid eyes on her was at Castle Black. Her scent was still on his cock when she rode south; her taste still on his tongue. The whole fortnight prior had been a blur of fucking, biting, sucking, smacking, pulling, choking, and screaming. They were like wolf pups playing; snapping at each other, each trying to pin the other down until one of them got too excited, then breaking off for ten minutes and starting again.  _Sam must be giving Aegon some kind of tea. I don't know how he could do that every day._

Now, after he'd barely had a chance to bathe and change his clothes, Aegon was insisting on more pointless ceremony. "Your Excellency," the King began. "I present to you, the--"

"The Small Council. I know them well. Thank you, Your Grace." Jon bowed politely to curb his desire to punch this man right in his pretty, smug face. He had known most of the Small Council for longer than Aegon, and had met the other two attendees, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater and Jon Connington, barely an hour earlier. He'd heard things about Bronn, most of which were confirmed when he acknowledged himself with a smile and wave while everyone else went to one knee. Jon immediately preferred Bronn to the rest.

Dany sat, the rest followed, and Jon started talking before any of these fools could get a word out. "Braavos depends on an aqueduct for fresh water. We can land a small force well south of the city and avoid their defenses. Take the aqueduct and they're at our mercy. Demand they release Arya and the rest, and as soon as their ship passes into open water, everyone goes home."  _So get your fucking men and let's go_ , he wanted to shout. He could not bear the thought of Arya in a cell for another moment.

Aegon smiled unctuously. "No one understands your desire to get your cousin back more than I do, Your Excellency."  _Stop calling me that._ "But we think it best to treat with them first." 

 _'We'?_ Jon looked around the table. No one else appeared to think much of anything. "With all due respect, Your Grace, what would we trade for their return? If we had the coin to repay the Iron Bank's loan, we'd have done it already. And we have nothing else they want, except the promise not to smash their slave trade." He looked at Dany when he said that, hoping she would back him up, but she ignored him. Jon grew more concerned with every word Aegon said, and every word Dany did not. 

"Your Excellency," Lord Connington turned to Jon.  _Stop it!_  "If we send too large a force, we forfeit surprise. Too small, and they'll send a larger one and throw us back into the sea." 

_That's the way of war, you dusty old cunt._

"A thousand men," Davos interjected. "If we take strong defensive positions, they'd have to work to get us out. And if we pack our men tight, it's few enough ships that no one will take note."

"And where will we get these thousand men?" Connington's tone was patronizing.

"We already brought half of 'em with us. They're on your docks, filling up your brothels and pot shops as we speak. Round up some Goldcloaks and we can sail on the evening tide."

"We received no word of this," Varys replied, concerned.

"Good, then we're right about the surprise."

Aegon was visibly frustrated. "If they throw us back into the sea, as Lord Connington suggests, they'd still have our hostages. More like than not, they'd capture our officers, take our ships, and make us look like fools to the rest of the Free Cities."

"They won't. Not after Driftmark." Davos declared.  _He_ _loosed that arrow too early._

Jon looked to Daenerys.  _Say something!_ But she sat stone-faced, so it fell to him. "If the tales are true, the Queen has a terrible new weapon at her disposal. The first wind our scouts get of Braavosi soldiers, we--" he paused. He had expected Daenerys to be pounding the table, demanding war by now. "--they would send a raven to Dragonstone, and if it please Her Grace, she could--"

"Fly low over the city as a threat," Dany finally interjected. "Would that it were that simple, but I'm afraid it won't work. Varys says they are counting on that, and have built trebuchets all around the harbor. It would be too risky." 

Dany was Jon's best shot at a quick, favorable resolution, and now it seemed he would need to do it the hard way. "My Kingdom can't afford a ransom. Yours can't either, unless you pay them in their own coin."

"My sweet nephew," Dany replied, as if she had a spear at her back, "it's only fair that we treat with them first. After these terrible wars, we must return to the unspoken protocols of statecraft. Should we attack without treating with them first, we risk breaking the fragile peace we've built with the Free Cities."

Jon could not stop the shock that flashed across his face. This was not the Daenerys Stormborn he knew. That one had no use for keeping a fragile peace. She made certain it was iron-clad from the start, or she decimated it.  _That was Aegon speaking_ , he suspected.

"You're welcome to try it yourself, but we cannot agree to this until our other options have failed," the King declared.

Jon made one last, desperate attempt. "If we go to them under a peace banner, what's to stop them from taking the envoys hostage as well?" 

"They won't." Aegon seemed quite certain of that.

Jon sighed, defeated. "Very well, I suppose it's settled then. Tormund will represent the North, and speak on my behalf."

"I'd love to go, thanks for asking," Tormund joked, to the group. Aegon raised an eyebrow and shot Varys a look. Jon shot one at the Wildling.  _Not funny._

Aegon nodded. "Very well. Ser Bronn, Lady Arianne, and Lord Gendry will speak for the Queen and myself."  _All Dany's and Tyrion's_ , he could not help but note. It was not lost on Dany, either. She'd played the good wife thus far, but her face could no longer mask her fury.

"Done. We will feast tonight in honor of our esteemed guests. Meanwhile, I promised Lord Connington that I'd destroy him in a round of  _cyvasse_." Aegon's smiling gaze lingered on the old lord. 

_Oh, so that's what they call it now?_

With that, the meeting adjourned. Aegon and Lord Connington exited first, as Tormund remained at the table to consult with his southern counterparts. Jon's gaze met Dany's and they circled the table to hug each other warmly.

"We'll speak later." She pre-empted him.  _Good, then I'm not imagining it_. "For now, let me just enjoy laying eyes on you again. It's been far too long." 

This was the part of the trip he feared the most. He detested King's Landing intrigue, but could manage it well enough, and this war would be a small, silly thing compared to the others. But Daenerys was a different sort of beast.

He wanted her, of course, but she belonged to another man now. The passion they shared at Castle Black came spontaneously. Their blood was hot and they were rejoicing in simply being alive. But this time was different. There was business to be done, eyes watching them, plots and counterplots, and rumors true and false.

 _I could fuck her, get caught, lose my head, and start a war. I could try to fuck her and she might refuse me and think me a lecher. I could fuck her and not be as good as last time, or not as good as Aegon. I could refuse her in the name of my stupid fucking honor, and lose any chance of having her again. I could fuck her and fall in love with her but she might love me not. Or I could fuck her and we could fall in love with each other._ That last one was the most dangerous, he knew.  _Or I could just fuck her and go home with fond memories and leave it be. Why must I always think so much?_

But in this moment, he had no time to think, and no choice but to smile and make pleasantries.

"I could not agree more. It's so good to see you."  _Do I have naught else to say?_ He paused, letting the silence hang in the air between them.  _I can't tell her how I want to paint the inside of her cunt white. Not here. So I suppose I don't._

"How have you been?" She took his hands in hers, and he bit his lip to ignore his cock. "How have you not wed yet?"

 _Did she mean something by that? No. Stop thinking. Answer the question._ "I don't really know," he shrugged, stupidly, before thinking of a better answer. "I want to marry for love, not dowries. I can't do that until I can be a truly devoted husband, and for the nonce I'm simply too busy."  _She'll like that._

Dany smiled warmly. "You'll be the finest husband, I'm certain. I envy and admire you for waiting like that." There was a hint of wistfulness on her face.

 _Good, she liked it._ "You're too kind." He felt silly addressing her so stiffly.  _When can I finally be alone with her?_

Dany caught Ser Bronn as he was leaving and waved him over, trying not to draw attention to herself. "What do you think of this plan?" She asked him, clearly knowing the answer.

"Needs more throat cutting and key stealing, if you ask me."  _Good man._

Dany nodded. "Excellent. Add some at your discretion."

Bronn made some motion approximating a bow. Before he turned and left, he eyed Jon up and down, twice for good measure, and smiled at the Queen. "I could see it." He told her, and saw himself out.

Dany turned back to Jon and batted a hand dismissively in Bronn's direction. "I know you don't want to go to this feast. I'll make certain we don't stay a minute longer than needed. There's much to catch up on."

 _Am I the only man alive who doesn't know what that means?_ "I would be very grateful."

Something flashed in her purple eyes when she heard that. "I would expect nothing less." Dany kissed him on the cheek and left. The feeling of her lips on his skin even for that brief moment gave him a head rush.

The feast was a tedious affair. Jon sat on the dais in a place of honor to the Queen's right. Daenerys, as expected, was a goddess in the flesh. She had braided her hair and changed into an evening dress in the colors of her House. The black and red suited her. She looked beautiful in nearly anything she wore, but tonight she reminded the world, and him, precisely who she was and why she sat at the center of the dais.

Jon understood why there were so many guests queued up to meet him. He was one of their two saviors, and the one sitting to his left was now in charge of collecting their taxes, so all they wanted with her was to lodge complaints about their neighbors' nightsoil and the price of beets. Jon lost count of the times a man already in his cups leaned in and whispered that he should fuck the Queen while he was here.  _No, I shouldn't, but that won't stop me from trying._

The only one who seemed to enjoy this was Aegon. He was a sack of cunts on a good day, but tonight he outdid himself. The King told stories of Jon's valor, though he'd never seen it himself. He boasted of his own, though no one at all had seen it, ever. He spewed platitudes about how the Braavosi will learn what Westeros does to its enemies, though he had just decided to do nothing.

After the fourth or fifth course, the Queen's handmaiden came by to refill their wine. Dany motioned for her to come closer and whispered in her ear.

"Mix in some dreamwine for my husband. He need not know."  _Thank the gods._ Under different circumstances he might have objected to her methods, but now he would settle for anything to get his ass out of that chair.

Her response was terse for a girl who was usually all smiles and courtesies. "Yes,  _Khaleesi._ "

"Is that alright?" The Queen asked, her own voice tense.  _Odd..._  Daenerys was not one to ask her servants if they approved of her commands. The girl merely nodded, not even looking at her, and left. 

A fleeting, pained look crossed Dany's face. "Once he goes to bed, we'll walk the battlements together. There are pressing matters to discuss."

Jon nodded, still unsure whether those matters involved statecraft, love, or both. He merely hoped that he wouldn't bugger up the whole continent by the end of it.

Mercifully, the dreamwine worked its magic, and the King was soon enough yawning and struggling to keep his eyes open. Once he left, Dany summoned two of her Queensguard and commanded that they escort her and Jon out through separate doors, and bring them both to the battlements near the Maidenvault.

Their walk was silent for a few moments, as Dany looked around to be certain they were alone.

"Aegon has caused me some difficulty, I fear," she finally admitted. "And for the nonce there's little I can do. I confess I did not see it coming."

"What happened?"

Dany hesitated. "Matters of the heart."

They kept walking, slowly. Jon was unsure what to say, or what to do with his hands. 

"Does he want you to simply accept it?" He asked, assuming they both knew what the other meant.

"Accept what?"

"You know. Connington."

"What about him?"

"Oh--I'm sorry, I shouldn't--"

"No, no. Tell me what you meant," she commanded.

 _Congratulations, you just buggered up the whole continent_. "Have you ever actually seen them play  _cyvasse?_ You know him better than I, but he seems to lack the patience for a game like that. And I'm sure you've heard tales of Connington and my father..."

It suddenly hit her. "Oh, gods. You think--"

"I'm almost certain."

"How are you almost certain?"

"I was in the Night's Watch, I know when two men are fucking each other."

"...That little shit! Of course!" She grabbed his arm, seemingly more wroth at herself for not noticing sooner, than at the betrayal itself. 

"I'm sorry, I thought you knew." He made an awkward move to hug her, but stopped halfway through.

"No, but sweet Mother's mercy, how could I have missed it!"

"I'm truly sorry, I can only imagine how painful--"

"Oh, no, I  _like_  this."

 _What game is she playing, and why must everyone here always be playing one?_ He decided not to ask.

Another long silence followed. Jon was even more uncertain what to do with his hands.  _Put them behind your back. It's casual, but kingly._

They stopped as they neared the Hand's chambers. "Do you ever feel like the gods have made us the center of some cruel jape?" Dany asked him, staring into the distance.

"You believe in the gods?"

"No. In fact, that's part of the jape."

 _What is she going on about?_ "If they don't exist, how can they make japes?"

She sighed. "I mean have you ever felt like you've finally gotten everything you wanted, and now that you have it, you wished you didn't?"

"What do you mean?"

"I've been fighting for this Throne since I was a child. I have it now, but every time I try to use the power it gives me, someone tells me I can't. I can't levy taxes or I'm a tyrant. I can't spend less coin or I'm neglecting the Realm. I'm weak if abide slavery in the Free Cities, but I'm mad if I threaten war to stop it. I can't say that I don't believe in the gods because I'd face revolt by all manner of fanatics. I can't be too pious or the maesters will call  _me_  a fanatic. And on, and on, and on."

"I never wanted to rule. I ruled because I had to," Jon replied.

"Yes. But Ramsay Bolton been dead for how long, now? And look where you are. Ruling. That's your half of the jape. You want to be in King's Landing tonight like you want to get buggered with a rusty spike."

Jon paused.  _Truth now._  "King's Landing mocks Eddard Stark as an honorable fool, but his line ruled the North for 8,000 years."

Dany nodded, conceding the point but still staring into oblivion.

"Yours ruled for 300. Your father lost the Realm because he deserved to. You had to come back with dragons. You had to save the Realm. You had to prove you're not mad like him. You still have to prove that every day, after all you've done."

She shot him a warning to tread carefully, but he continued.

"The Starks have ruled for so long because we give our people a reason to want it." He continued. "We don't rule through fear, or try to blind their imaginations to a world without us. We listen to them. We dispense justice as fairly as we can. We give them food, lend them coin, and drive robbers from their lands. We bend without breaking. They say we're too stiff, and not treacherous enough. But no one ever questions whether the Starks care about their subjects."

Dany's silence bothered him, so he continued, foolishly. "Cersei Lannister did all she did because deep down, she truly thought she would make a better ruler than Robert. She may have even been right. But she never gave anyone a reason to believe it. All she showed the Realm was treachery and feuds. Maybe if she had--"

Dany turned to him, the torchlight reflecting in her eyes. "Are you saying I'm Cersei  _fucking_ Lannister? I have given my  _life_  to putting this Realm back together after years of senseless wars that your beloved Cersei Lannister started! Do  _not_  presume--"

 _The damage is done, just tell her what she needs to hear_."I presume nothing, Daenerys. I'm simply telling you what I see. You love your people, but they don't see that. They see you changing all manner of ancient laws, and they know why you'd want to, but they don't know why  _they_  should want it too. They don't see why your will for them is better than anyone else's, or their own. And they must, if you're to keep ruling them. You should know that at least as well as I do."

Dany was frustrated, clearly. "Men followed me unflinchingly through far worse times than these."

"You're right. But they did because you gave them a reason to. You gave them courage when they were afraid. You fed them and cared for their sick. Personally. At your own peril, when your men warned against it. You made your people feel  _safe_ in serving you, because they knew you would do what's best for them, not just yourself. If you want to rule like a true Queen, become the child wandering the desert with nothing again." 

Jon could tell she was holding back tears. "I'm sorry, I did not mean to--"

"No, no. It's hard to hear, but you have the right of it. I worked so hard to  _not_  become this kind of Queen, but all I do now is bicker with my Council and plot intrigue. I've failed my people."

"We all fail them somehow. There is too much to do, not enough time, not enough coin, and too many men like Aegon. You're a better ruler than most, and at your best, you show a greatness that comes along once in a thousand years. But you must  _always_  be at your best, and you must show it to your whole Realm, from high lords to street beggars." 

Dany turned, hugged him, and rested her head on his chest. Jon hugged back, loosely, unsure what was appropriate. Another long silence followed.

"Have you ever been truly in love with a woman?" She asked, breaking the hug and looking up into his eyes. The change of subject was welcome.

"Only once, but yes, I have."  _Would have been twice, but you left Castle Black too soon._

Dany hesitated. "I've loved a woman." 

_Feign surprise._

"Truly?"  _You're shit at feigning surprise._

Dany nodded. "Aegon knows about her. That's why he's being so bold."

"Who? Asha Greyjoy?" He had seen the way she and Asha would look at each other, just as lustily as she had ever looked at him, and Jon wagered they'd spent far too much time on ships together to contain themselves. 

"No." Dany mimed pouring wine into a cup and handing it to Jon. 

"The handmaiden?" He did not have to feign his surprise this time. Jon had a secret fondness for Dothraki women, though he'd never had the chance to act on it. He must have been blushing like a maid. He could tell by her smile that she was proud of herself, and the effect it had on him.  _Unlace my breeches and you'll be even prouder._

"How long has that been going on?" _Were you fucking her when you were with me,_ he meant to say.

"Long enough," she smiled coyly.  _So yes, then._  Jon felt a pang of jealousy, but the images in his mind made up for it. ""We declared our love for each other. Promised to die for each other if need be. We fucked every chance we got. But it was more. I conquered her. I  _ruled_  her. When no one else would heed my will, that one did. Always."

Jon had long known that Daenerys was fond of mixing a bit of fighting into her fucking, and she fought to win. "Like with me?"

"No, this was different. You fought back. I let you. I wanted you to. Half the time I let you win. This one was at my mercy and mine alone. She became a slave, or near enough." Dany paused. "I freed thousands, I'm allowed to have one, am I not?" She meant that to sound like a jape, but there was an uncertainty in her voice. Jon had no answer.

"I would hurt her," she continued. "Whip her. Learn what terrible things I could say to make her cry, and say them on a whim. Tie her down and do what I would with her. Make her pour wine for guests with the scent of my cunt still on her face. She loved it. She would beg for it. I loved her too. More than anything else in the world, save Drogo and my children. I'd trained her to crave the pain."

 _This is Daenerys Stormborn, were you expecting something simple? Speak, or she'll think you're daft._ "Hm," was the best he could muster.

"But I demanded too much. I pushed her too far. I couldn't control myself. Now she fears me. She feels I've betrayed her. She does her duties but no more, and she's cold when she's alone with me."

"I'll warm you up," he told her, foolishly thinking now was a good time to start his seduction. It sounded good in his mind, but came out like he was still half a boy, utterly hopeless and tripping over himself.

Dany failed to contain her smile, which grew into outright laughter.  _I've lost the battle before it started_. He felt like he was charging into another of Ramsay's traps, but it was her cunt he was after now, not Rickon.

"I've always wondered why you haven't drowned in cunt juice yet, sweet nephew," she told him, still fighting laughter. "But I'd forgotten you ran off to the Wall the moment your balls dropped."  _And now, the arrows._

The look on his face must have been truly pained, as her smile quickly disappeared. "I'm sorry, that was truly rude of me. I did not mean to hurt your pride." She sat down against the wall, taking care not to ruin her dress, and patted the ground next to her. "Sit." 

He sat cross legged beside her, still wounded. "I'm sorry too, I shouldn't have said that. You're a married woman."

"Married to some boywhore dressed up like my brother, it seems," she answered, with a hint of indifference. 

"Boil your  _cyvasse_  pieces." 

Dany chuckled politely, but not as hard as he'd expected. "And the girl I love won't speak to me unless she absolutely must." 

Jon had gotten farther with the truth than charm, so he went back to it. "I must admit, she sounds justified."

"She is. Completely. But this is a part of me. I  _need_  it as much as I need to be fucked like any other woman, and strange as it sounds, I did it for love. She was mine. She could never doubt that. If I didn't love her, I wouldn't have wanted to possess her so completely."

"You say that, but how could she have known?"

"She couldn't. I didn't 'give her a reason.' You have the right of it, Snow." Jon felt oddly comforted that she used his bastard name. She meant it not as an insult, and he knew it. She was his aunt, his friend, his old lover, and one of the only people in the world who could begin to understand him. "I just want her to kneel and smile and beg me to beat her again."

 _Well, go on, help her win back her cunt-licking whipping-girl handmaiden._ "Then show her again why she should."

She paused, looked into his eyes for what felt like an hour, and took his hand between hers. "I did not mean to laugh at you, truly. Everything about you speaks for itself. There is no finer man than you. Anywhere. A woman would be blind not to see it. You don't need to charm me with words." She paused. "Which is good, because you're terrible at it." Her smirk turned into a warm smile.

This time, Jon could not help but blush and laugh as well. Suddenly he felt the urge to open up. "The woman I loved was a Wildling. I'd taken her captive and kept threatening to execute her, but she just laughed at me and told me to get my breeches off."

"If you were any other man in the world, I'd say you were utterly full of shit. But with you, I believe it." She paused, and smiled to herself. "Irri was a wedding gift. One night I was diddling my cunt too loudly and it woke her up, so she finished me with her tongue and went back to sleep." She paused and smiled at the face Jon was making. "How could I not have been smitten?"

Jon laughed. "If you were any other woman in the world..."

"You would have kissed me by now."

That sign was clear enough, even for Jon. He leaned in and for the first time in far too long, their lips touched. Then their tongues. He took her face in his hands and savored the taste. There was a hint of red wine on her breath, but otherwise it was just as he remembered. She wore a fragrant oil, but under that was her unmistakeable scent. He inhaled it as she hiked up her dress and straddled him, and he moved to kiss her neck. Sucking, licking, biting, until he got that desperate, hungry, greedy little moan he was looking for. He could feel the heat of her cunt through his breeches as she began to grind it against his cock.

He ran his hands down her back, feeling the curves of her body through her dress.  _She can't be a mortal woman,_ he thought, as he reached down to feel her ass, that seemed like it was made for his hands. He squeezed her cheeks and smacked one. Her back arched, she grabbed his shoulders, and her whole body bucked against him as she let out a muffled gasp.

"Why did I think I could see you and not have your cock in me?" She whispered, her breath quickening.

 _Just keep your mouth shut give it to her._ He moved to rip her bodice straight down the front, but she smacked his hands away.

"Not here, sweet nephew. Come." She grabbed his hand and led him toward the entrance to the Tower of the Hand.

"No one enters  _No one._ " she told the Unsullied outside, in a hushed voice.

Once inside, Dany led Jon by the hand toward the bedchamber, reaching back and squeezing his cock through his breeches with her other hand. "Give me this fucking cock, I need it I need it I need it. My cunt's been soaked for it all day. I wanted to crawl under the Small Council table and suck it while Aegon was talking, fucking  _give it to me!_ " And he did. He took her in every way she demanded, and she was a famously demanding woman. He told her that her husband was false, that he was the rightful heir to her throne, and that he'd take it from her and send her right back to the  _dosh khaleen_ unless she gave up all three of her slutty little fuckholes. She fought every step of the way, as he knew she would. Biting, scratching, kicking, slapping him across the face, refusing to hold still. He knew he'd have to take her by force, but she moaned in elation when he prevailed and claimed what was rightfully his. Her screams to fuck her harder came in the Tyroshi accent she learned to speak with but had long since shed, and then in the High Valyrian that was her mother tongue.  _Valar dohaeris, even you. Spread your cheeks, cunt._

When it was over, she laid her head on his chest, circled a finger around his nipple, and playfully bit just below it. She had never looked happier or more gorgeous. 

 _"_ We should have wed," Jon mused. He sensed she agreed, but had always feared saying it out loud.

"I know," she replied, barely taking her attention off of his nipple. "Tyrion said soon or late you'd covet the Throne. That would mean war, he said."

"Do you believe that?"

"Should I?" 

Her Grace the Queen Daenerys Targaryen's eyes stopped his dead in their tracks, but the notion was so absurd, he had to smile. "What did you say earlier? That I'd rather get buggered with an iron spike than govern?"

Dany smiled back. "I have rather warped notions of who might want to be buggered with what." She gave his nipple a quick flick with her index finger.

"I assure you, I would not fancy a spike."

"A pity," she replied vacantly.

"They say I rule a free realm, but all the coin and food and soldiers come from you. I can't govern without you anyway. So why keep up the mummer's farce?"

Dany sat up ever so slightly and stroked Jon's hair. "Do it, then. Bend the knee." She wasn't forceful about it, but he could tell it was only half a jape.

"What about Aegon?"

"I'll set him aside."

"He'll reveal your secret..."

"Then I beat the girl because she was insolent, which is well within my rights. Everything else is a treasonous lie from a false King caught with an old man's cock in his mouth. I just need to catch him."

He had to admit the idea was enticing. "And the Free Folk? I swore a vow to them that I would never make them kneel, to me or anyone."

"What, precisely, do the Free Folk even  _do_?" 

"Fuck each other and brag about it, mostly." It was not far from the truth.

She laughed. "I think I can leave them be. But it's far too early. I am in no hurry to get you down on one knee." There was a malice in her grin, but a longing as well. She studied his eyes, searching for something. "One knee gets me some land and more mouths to feed. I want you on  _both_ knees. That gets me  _you_ , and that's what I truly want."

Jon's cock twitched as she squeezed his balls and ran a hand down his inner thigh to his knee, then back up. He felt like a tavern wench wading through a crowd of drunken sailors. But he was no wench, and Dany was one small, sober woman.  _And is the wench supposed to like it?_

"I don't know if I can do that," he told her, though he was not surprised she asked.

She started to slowly stroke his cock, determined to ignore his protestations. "Why not?"

"I've never done it before."  _That's not enough for her_.

"No one has, until they have." She brushed her thumb against the head of his cock, and suddenly her words were all that filled his mind. There were no other sounds, no other images, not even her face or her body; just the sound of her voice and an amorphous cloud that seemed to envelop him when he closed his eyes, and cleanse his mind of every thought but those she allowed.

He leaned his head back and sunk into the pillow. She poured some oil into her hand and began to pump, her fingers gliding over the head of his cock as she observed exactly what made him the weakest.

"It's easy, I promise," she went on. It echoed in his head. ' _Easy.' You're safe. Let her guide you_. ' _Promise.' Trust her. She will do you no harm_. They were her words in his voice. She had made his mind her thrall, but instead of being fearful, he felt a strange serenity. "See? It's nice," she stroked his hair with one hand and his cock with the other. Her soft, warm fingers brushed against his temple, making him sleepy; making him want to nuzzle against her and give up everything for her.

The cloud dispersed just long enough for Jon to blurt out two requests. "No ropes. Mercy when I ask for it." 

Dany looked almost perplexed. "And if I refuse?"

He summoned what was left of his melting strength. "Then you're your father. You'll lose me like he lost Westeros."

The malicious grin on Dany's face vanished.  _No one's told her that before. They've all feared her._  But Jon was not afraid. He'd faced worse, and she knew it. He could not be dismissed as some insolent lowborn servant. She knew that, too. And if she needs to sate this part of herself so badly, then she needs him as much as she could ever make him need her.

"Very well." She was not as wroth about that as he feared. He had girded himself for an unceremonious dismissal back to his own chambers, but instead she gave him a look that bordered on admiration. "But you need to trust me. And you can't trust me from my words alone. You must let me do as I would with you." 

She paused, and took a deep breath. "Let's not be stupid. We  _will_ be in love by the time you go home. I  _need_  to do this if you're to love me truly.  _You_  need to know what I am. But I'm ashamed of it. I fear you'll think me a monster at the end."

Something about that frustrated him.  _I want this,_  he admitted.  _Or I'd have taken her hand off my cock already._  "I know there's a monster in you. I'd be a fool to miss it. Have you forgotten who you are? Maybe I can't love this monster. But if I can't love  _you_  unless you show it to me, then show it to me!"

He reached over and gently touched her clit. Jon was no expert on women, but he knew one sure way to get this one's attention. All it took was a few seconds of slow teasing.

"Keep doing that and there will be no going back," she warned, the lust seeping back into her voice.

 _She's easier than she thinks._ "I know. Why do you think I'm doing it?" He watched her face and body, teasing her more intensely as she reacted to his touch. "Show me this monster. Unleash it on me. If you can't control it, I will. You know I can." She breathed heavier at that. "I thought you were the last true Dragon," he mocked. "Was that a lie? Is that the blood of Old Valyria in your veins, or is it milk? Have you become a slave to your husband? To the Iron Bank? To every petty lord in this Realm?"

Finally, he felt the sting on his cheek.  _Mmmmm._

"Such a brave fool you are," Dany whispered into his ear, biting his earlobe ever so slightly. She stroked his hair and his cheek, to bring him back into the tranquil, vulnerable state of mind where he'd just been. It only took a few strokes; a few seconds of him feeling the warmth of her palm against his face. "That's it. Right back where you were. You like it there, don't you?" 

Jon moaned softly in docile agreement. 

"Good. Kneel for me. Bastard." 

They both knew he was no bastard. But when she said the word, it tore all the thoughts from his mind save his memories of Robb reminding him why Winterfell would never be his, and of Ramsay Bolton's taunts. If it were anyone else, he'd be bloodying their face in an instant, but for her, he simply rolled out of bed and slid to his knees.

Dany eyed him as she walked over and stood leaning against the top of the mattress in front of him. She seemed to rather enjoy the sight. When she reached him, she took his hair in her fist. It didn't hurt, but he knew it could if she wanted it to. She jerked his head up so their eyes met. When she'd bound his gaze to hers, she looked down at her cunt just long enough for his eyes to follow, and return to looking straight up. 

"Finish me," she commanded.

Jon was happy to oblige, but suddenly remembered what he'd spilled into her cunt only minutes earlier. "But I just--"

She tightened her grip on his hair but made no other move. "I remember. I was there," a hint of playful mockery filled her voice. "It's the  _idea_  you fear, nothing more. Good boys clean up after themselves. And you want to be good for me, don't you?" Jon simply nodded, and she leaned against the side of the bed, spread her legs, and pulled his head gently toward her. "You won't disappoint me so soon, all over some silly fear of yours, will you?" He shook his head. "I've swallowed a bit of it myself and I'm still here," she assured him. "You'll be fine. Trust me."

Jon had always prided himself as skilled with his tongue, and he would not have it said that he balked at her first true command, so he went to work. He'd seen her react to a good cunt-licking before, but this was beyond anything he'd witnessed. He felt her shudder, and her breathless moan sounded as much of surprise as pleasure.  _It's the idea she finds so pleasing. The same one I feared._

As predicted, the taste was not what he was accustomed to. It still tasted like her, but there was something saltier, muskier.  _Good boys clean up after themselves_ , she reminded him from inside his head.

He felt something thick slide down the tip of his tongue and dissolve into the rest of his salivating mouth. At first he didn't know what it was, then it hit him.  _I'm being good._ He wouldn't want to season his breakfast with it, but it was not as terrible as he'd imagined.  _It was the idea that I feared_ , he realized.  _She was right_. If he tasted seed and wasn't utterly repulsed, that would mean-- _something?_ \--but he could no longer say what, or why he should care.

It had been a few minutes since he'd been inside her, and some of it had begun to leak out. When he realized, he took his mouth off her cunt just long enough to lick and nibble at her inner thighs, and look up at her to see her reaction.  _Was that good? You'd have me clean up all of it, yes?_ All he wanted in the moment was a sign of approval. He craved it just as much as he'd craved the feeling of his cock inside her as they kissed on the battlements. When he saw it in her eyes, he smiled and put his mouth right back onto her cunt, where it belonged.

By the time she was ready to finish, she was sitting all the way on the bed, her legs wrapped around his shoulders. She had his head locked between them; no escape, and just barely room enough to breathe. Her grip on his hair had tightened and grown painful, but the pain sustained him.  _The more it hurts, the more she likes it_. As she reached the point of no return, her panting and grinding grew frantic, like she were having a shaking spell. Her cunt was pulsing, spasming, and he had to suck her clit and chase after it so he could keep his tongue at the perfect angle. When she peaked, she filled his mouth like she never had before, and at the very end, she pulled him away just in time to launch a few drops right onto his face. It hit him like the first raindrops of a thunderstorm. They were small, but there was a weight to them; a force. He didn't realize Dany could do that, or any woman for that matter.

"Mmmm,  _mine!_ " She declared.

"Yours. All yours," he concurred, gazing up at her. How could he deny it? He'd been marked.

Dany took a moment to come down and collect herself. Jon relaxed as well, sitting back on his heels. She stood, keeping a hand on his shoulder as she regained the strength in her legs.

As she rose, Jon found himself in awe. He didn't believe such a thing could truly exist. He'd seen her naked body before, but from that angle, it was more beautiful than he had words for. She was a woman, to be certain. Her soft skin and curves left no doubt. But the muscles in her legs and arms were hard as marble. Her breasts demanded to be gazed upon, like they knew as well as she did the power they gave her over anyone she chose to bear them to. This was the body that had spent a night in a raging fire and emerged untouched with three dragons on its shoulders where two mortals left only charred bones. Had he not already been on his knees, he would not have had the strength to do anything but fall to them. He feared what she could do with a body like that. He understood why men were so fearful that power would corrupt her and unleash her father's madness if it truly lay dormant within her. The entire world would be at her mercy and hers alone.

She leaned down, held his face in her hands, and kissed him, gently, but with a force that wiped away any notion that she was done. She seemed to savor the taste on his lips; the mix of herself and him. When she broke off the kiss, she held his face and gazed into his eyes, wordlessly. She must have sensed when he'd gotten comfortable, because the instant he did, he felt the sting of another slap to the face.

" _Mine!_ " She reiterated. It was all he could do to nod in blissful agreement. That made her smile. "Whose?"

"Yours." It was no longer a question.

She slapped him again. "Do  _not_  forget it." 

No one had ever slapped Jon before her. He'd been punched, though; kicked, slashed at, stabbed right through the gut. Everyone assumed that was what it took to break him; to quash his will to fight back. Might be that was true for anyone else, but Daenerys needed no such effort.  _She knows she's broken me; now she's toying with me._  His eyes went right back to hers each time, as if they were tethered to her.  _If I look away, I'll displease her._ He could not bear the thought.

From under the bed she retrieved a leather whip, the kind used to punish a whipping boy for a lordling's insolence. Enough to bring a man to tears, but not to scar him for life. She smiled, reading what must have been the obvious expression on his face. "Mercy when you ask for it, I know. I said you'd like the last game, did I lie?"

He shook his head and quickly realized he'd forgotten to speak. "No. Your Grace." He hadn't meant to call her that, but her presence itself compelled it.

Her eyes brightened as she raised an eyebrow. "Not yet, sweetling," she told him, playfully touching the tip of his nose with her index finger. It was slick with sweat and the juice of her cunt. "We must wed first, and that will take time."

What amazed him most was that she could have had his Kingdom right then, but seemed not to care.  _She wants me more than the crown,_ he realized.It overwhelmed him. It made no sense.  _She's playing a different game than the rest._

Jon felt an all-consuming urge to put his nose to the ground and kiss her feet, and did exactly that. Dany laughed and hopped back up on the mattress, still holding the whip. "Such a sweet boy, don't be shy!" He wasn't. Her feet were small and soft and perfect. They had her scent on them, to be certain, mixed with the leather from the inside of her boots and the sweat they'd absorbed from all the times she'd worn them. Jon didn't care. There was a hint of some kind of scented oil as well.  _Her handmaiden must have rubbed it onto her_ , he thought.  _What I would give to be her handmaiden..._

She flexed her toes and tickled his face with them, taking pleasure in rubbing her soles against his stubble. "Tickles," she muttered down at him, before putting one toe to his lips. "Suck." 

Jon obeyed and gave her that eager, searching look again. She signaled her approval. "That filth you're licking is a gift. I'll have your utter devotion and obedience. Nothing less." Jon nodded up at her, hoping she would recognize just how deeply she had conquered him. Her face gave nothing away, but Jon would wager that this one knew when she had won. 

She slid a foot under his chin and lifted his head from the ground. "Up." Jon rose to his knees, not even thinking to stand without her leave. As he lifted himself, she motioned with her hand for him to keep rising. "All the way. Stand, quickly." 

Jon did as he was bid. His back and knees ached more than he thought they would, but he cared less than naught. It felt strange standing in front of her. Dany was short, even for a woman, and he had forgotten he could easily knock her right to the ground if he wanted to. But he didn't want to. He just wanted to stand there so she could take satisfaction in knowing that all of his brute male strength was hers to command and powerless to challenge her. She did not look dissatisfied, but he could tell that she knew there were stronger men who would give themselves to her all the same.  _But they're not Kings like I am. They fought at her back, not by her side._

Dany grabbed his pulsing cock to focus him. "I will show you mercy the moment you ask, but you must promise me you will not ask until you truly need it. I do not choose weak men for this. Prove to me that I chose well with you. Can you do that?" She twisted his cock at the end.

Jon did not remember saying yes, but before he knew it, Dany was steering him by the cock to face the far wall, like a tiller in a boat. 

She pointed. "Hands on the wall." As it seemed his nature, he complied. Dany followed him, kicked his legs apart, smacked his ass and dug in her nails as she made her way back.

Jon had never considered himself a weak man, though he lacked the sheer size and muscle of men like Tormund. But in that moment, when he put himself entirely at her mercy and the first lash hit his back, he felt as if he could lift mountains. Each one was a test. A chance to show her how much he could take; how far he could push himself. A dare to refuse the next one and diminish himself in the perfect, terrifying violet eyes of this woman he could no longer deny he loved.

"More!" He found himself demanding.

"Oh you want more?" Dany mocked, pleasantly surprised.

"Yes! Please!" He grunted out between gasps. "More!"

The Queen was happy to grant his wish. For half a heartbeat, he regretted it. The crack was louder, and the sting sharper and more numbing. He felt his knees pleading with him to just let them buckle already; the word "mercy" building in his mouth.  _No. Dig deeper._ And he did, summoning a strength he didn't know he had. He let out another laboring grunt to force the weakness out of him.

Suddenly he felt a presence between his legs. A growing, pulsing weight, more insistent with each lash. Without thinking, he reached down to touch it. At first it was because he couldn't believe it was happening from this, but like the man he was, once he touched it he forgot himself and moved to stroke it. He got in two slow pumps before he felt his hand fling itself back. Dany's face filled his field of view. 

He lost focus for half a heartbeat when her palm hit his face, but her gaze paralyzed him when he recovered.  _I've displeased her._ He trembled.

"Did I say you could do that?" There was no room for japes or explanations, protestations of ignorance, or pleas for permission.

"No," he pushed out between deep breaths.  _Don't stop or I'll realize how weak I am._ "Won't happen again."  _Remember that._

"It better not. This is why bastards like you get tied up." she pinched his nipple and kissed him quickly on the lips, looked him up and down, ran a hand softly over his back, and nodded into his eyes. He nodded back.  _Yes, I'm okay. I want more. I love you_. With that, she slapped his ass playfully and moved back behind him.

_That's all you are. A bastard. A by-blow. The rest is just papers and ceremonies in some castle in the desert. But Winterfell is yours anyway, and the rest of the North with it. Show her why you're worthy of it. SHOW HER!_

Any playfulness from Dany stopped as soon as the leather hit his skin again.  _The others were for her pleasure. This was a punishment._

"What lesson did we learn?" By her tone, she could have been speaking before an army on the verge of battle. 

"Don't touch my cock!" He finally felt a tear.  _Not yet. You're no child. Show her._

Another one. "Who's cock is it?!"

"Yours, Your Grace!" He didn't know why he kept calling her by her title and not her name. It just felt right.

"Whose?!" And another.

"Yours!"

And yet another. "Speak, you mongrel bitch!"

" _Yours!_ " It took all his strength just to speak from his diaphragm. His throat was growing hoarse. He had not realized how much he'd screamed.

And one more. " _My_ cock! Don't touch what's mine!"

Three more lashes, maybe four, and he felt his knees starting to quiver.  _No. Not yet. Please, not yet._ But after one more, his body had taken all it could. He buckled, leaned sideways against the wall, and slid down to the floor.

"Mercy!" He thought he said. Or maybe he'd imagined it. Regardless, to his relief, she stopped and came to him.

"Are you hurt?" He heard her voice but couldn't see her and was too exhausted to look. All he felt was the back of his head meeting her chest, and her arms sliding around him.

"Yes. But not badly."

"This is the hard part for me," she explained as she sat herself against the wall, and he laid his head in her lap. "Part of me wants more. To make you cry. To see you bleed."

"Please don't," He implored, exhausted and breathless.

"I won't. Not now. It's passing." She held his cock and started to stroke again. It was as throbbing and hard as when they'd started.

"Good."

"Am I a monster?" She asked, after a moment of silent stroking.

"Yes."

She pumped faster. "Can you love me still?"

"Yes." He closed his eyes as she kissed the top of his head.

Her stroking grew faster.  _She means to finish._  "Will you bend the knee?" 

He knew what she meant. "Yes."

"Even though I'm a tyrant?"

His cock was pulsing; his body tensing up as he craned his neck back and met her gaze. "Yes. I need your tyranny."

"Good answer." With surrender came the sweet release. So sweet, in fact, that most of it landed high on his chest, and several drops hit him in the face. Dany scooped up one of the larger drops with her index finger and teased his lips with it. "Long may I reign?"

"Long may you reign." He opened his mouth, closed his eyes, and sucked.


	5. Irri II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Is it so far from madness to wisdom?"
> 
> \--Daenerys, _A Game of Thrones_ , Daenerys X

The Queen entered the Throne Room dressed for war: a tunic, light ringmail, and a breastplate, leather riding boots, wool breeches with a pair of leather gloves tucked into them, and an  _arakh_  at her right hip. It was positioned so she could grab it with her left hand, as she preferred. Everything was black, save for the rubies inlaid in the shape of the three-headed dragon on the breastplate. The Valyrian steel blade of her  _arakh_ was black as well, but glimmered red when the light hit it from certain angles as it bounced off her hip. The crown she chose was not the usual one she wore to court, but rather a replica of the crown worn by Aegon the Conqueror, in case anyone had forgotten who she was. 

The whole outfit was designed to give anything but comfort, yet Irri nonetheless found some in the  _arakh_ _._ It had been years since they left the Dothraki Sea, and more like than not, neither of them would ever go back. But the Dothraki Sea is where Dany had become who she was, and Irri liked knowing that she hadn't forgotten it.

They could hear Drogon outside, roasting himself a tethered goat in the bailey of the Red Keep. Dany had summoned the beast a fortnight ago, When Aegon announced plans for what he called a "hunt" with his ever-present companion Lord Connington. Dany misliked everything about it, and worried that he meant to have her killed while he was far enough away to deny involvement. Drogon was a reminder to the whole city of what happens to those who cross her. So far, none had crossed her.

In truth, Dany was armoring herself for three battles. The first was against the Braavosi envoys waiting against the back wall. That morning, Sam brought word that they'd arrived, most like bearing another "gift" from the Sealord. Dany was terrified it might be a corpse, or at least a head.  _If she's right, then the Sealord has signed the death warrant for himself and his entire city._

Even if this "gift" were not what she feared, Dany knew that if she was to treat with these men, she must make them uneasy in her presence. She had found over time that men like the Sealord only send their best diplomats to treat with her. Most of them have been to other courts and seen other highborn women. Her usual demeanor--authoritative, but decidedly feminine--would not faze him. But armor on a woman had a way of knocking men off balance.

The second battle would only be necessary if the first yielded a corpse, and it would only be a battle insofar as thousands would die and a city would burn. Dany had commanded that none were to join her to meet the envoys save for her guards, servants, Sam, and Jon, both of whom stood against the side wall, drawing no attention to themselves. If her fears were correct, there would be no Small Council meeting, no debates, no lectures about madness. She would rise from her Throne, march straight out to the bailey, mount Drogon, and ride. She would reach Dragonstone in hours, pick up her wildfire, and Braavos would be gone by the morrow. 

 _Her forebear melted his enemies' swords and made a chair out of them_ , Irri thought, as she and Dany reached the top of the steps. _She will melt theirs into the ground as they sit in their sheaths._ The thought struck a sense of awe into her.  _I know you want to beat me senseless,_  she thought as their eyes met briefly. She wondered if Dany could hear her. _I want it too. I fear you, still. But we both know I like that, and we both know I still love you._

And that was the third battle. Irri always grew wet when she contemplated the ease with which Dany could destroy anything in her way; to wipe away cities like crumbs from a table. Dany knew it, and she knew the armor magnified it. The Queen had made no overt attempt to seduce her since the evening she choked Irri within an inch of her life, but she didn't need to. Everything about her--her beauty, the way she moved, the way she spoke, the way she smile, all of it--made the girl weak in her knees and soaked between the thighs, and soon or late, Irri's love and lust would overcome her fear.  _It's only a matter of time,_ she knew.  _Everything this woman wills is only a matter of time._

Dany turned to Irri as soon as she sat, refusing to acknowledge the envoys. "Give me an apple," she commanded, staring straight ahead, planting her elbow on the arm of the Throne, and putting her hand up. The apple was on a fruit plate that had been placed on a small table next to the Throne, easily within Dany's reach by design. But this was not about the apple.  _Daenerys the Queen has run out of patience. They must treat with Daenerys the Conqueror_.

The Queen ate slowly, eyeing the envoys disdainfully the whole time. Studying them. They were both hooded, and stood with their heads down to hide their faces. Each had an Unsullied guard behind them, and between them was a wooden crate. Dany sat silently with her legs spread and an elbow on each knee as she ate.  _Like a man_ , Irri observed. When she finished, she tossed the core clear across the room, hitting one of the envoys in the chest. He did not lift his head.

"Bring them here," she ordered the Unsullied, leaning back and crossing her legs into a slightly more regal pose. The eunuchs gave the men a shove, and they lifted the crate and carried it forward. When they reached the steps to the Throne, they looked up. Dany cocked her head, curiously. "Show me their faces."

A smile filled the Queen's face and tears welled in her eyes as Bronn and Tormund removed their hoods and looked up at her, quite pleased with themselves. As she rose and descended the steps, Bronn's guard removed his helm. Grey Worm seemed relieved to be through with the jape. Dany slowed her approach as the crate rocked. She looked at it, then up at Bronn. "You did  _not_."

"Let him out? Of course not. Not as funny that way," Bronn smirked, as Grey Worm pried the crate open with the blade of his spear.

The Hand dumped himself unceremoniously at her feet, covered in his own shit, and looked up from the floor to the Queen's face above him.  _Such a beautiful view_. 

" _WINE!_ " He barked, to no one in particular.

Dany looked back at Irri and smiled, and she ran to fetch a skin. It was the first time since that terrible evening that they'd smiled at each other because they were truly happy.

She returned with the wine, and Tyrion drank like it was water. "You could have let me out of there days ago!" He shouted to Bronn, and to anyone else who would listen, as he finally rose to his feet.

"Could've sold you to a pot shop too." Bronn mussed Tyrion's shit-encrusted hair and slapped him on his shit-encrusted back. "Lucky for you, you're too gamy."

"How did you manage this?" Dany asked Bronn, breaking away from a tight hug with Grey Worm and composing herself.

"Throat-cutting and key-stealing, mostly. How much more do you want to know?"

"Bugger it, I don't care." She stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. "You shall be rewarded handsomely."

Dany was also too elated to care that Tyrion was covered in filth. As soon as he pulled the skin of wine from his lips, she picked him up and embraced him until he regurgitated most of his wine over her shoulder and onto the floor behind her. "That's disgusting.  _You're_ disgusting." she told him, sweetly, hugging him tighter.

"Where's Arya?" Jon demanded, emerging from his corner as she set Tyrion down. Tyrion spotted him and raised an eyebrow at Dany, who only glared back, daring him to say something. He looked over at Irri.  _Oh yes, my lord. In your bedchamber, too. It is known._

"We couldn't find her," Tormund admitted, with a rare hint of contrition in his voice.

"They separated her after a fortnight. We've had no word of her since," Tyrion explained. The room grew quiet and tense, awaiting Dany's next command. She turned and summoned Sam from the back corner. 

"Have Varys send his birds after any hint of Arya. Draw up a letter for the Sealord. 'All of Westeros stands together. Return Lady Arya and end your slave trade, or we shall retrieve her ourselves and end it for you. Your treachery has rendered our debt null and void. Come to collect and you shall find the Iron Bank in ruins upon your return, along with the rest of your city. It shall grieve me deeply to destroy a great city that began as a refuge for escaped slaves, but in betraying your forebears you have sealed your own fate.' Leave space for Jon to sign as well."

Sam nodded and ran to his chambers to write down the Queen's words before he forgot them. Dany turned back to Tyrion. "Bathe, my lord. Sleep. On the morrow you'll help me deal with that," she declared, pointing in Jon's general direction. "And have your riding clothes ready. I mean to catch my husband getting buggered in the woods."

Tyrion smiled a wry but genuine smile. "I missed you too, Your Grace."

When they arrived back at her chambers, Dany had Irri pour some wine for her and the King. They sat across from each other near the brazier while Irri stood a respectful distance away near the table.

"We'll get her back, surely," She told him. "They know if she dies, they die."

"I know, I just miss her dearly and can't help but fear for her."

"Trust me, obey me, and you'll have naught to fear." 

Irri missed having naught to fear. Jon nodded, stealing another glance at the sight of Dany in her armor.  _He and I are of one mind._

"We still have my husband to deal with," she reminded him, noticing his gaze.

Jon searched for words that hid his clear pessimism. "Tyrion can manage it."

"If it were up to him, he'd put  _you_  in a crate and ship you back to White Harbor."

"If it would stop another war, then as much as it would grieve me, I'd do it."

Dany rose and moved toward him. "No." The thought wounded her. She took his face in her hands and kissed him sweetly on the mouth, then sat sideways in his lap, shifting the  _arakh_  blade to avoid slicing through his legs. Jon grunted as he recovered from the surprise at how much weight the armor added to her body. Her feet dangled off the arm of the chair. 

Irri felt her face redden.  _She won't stop me if I knelt right now and begged to lick the soles of her boots._ She was salivating.  _They're right there. She misses me, it's plain_.  _She won't hurt me like that again_ , Irri tried her hardest to convince herself. _She loves this man. She could not risk losing us both._ But the girl stood still.  _That's too bold. Once he leaves._

"You're going nowhere until I set Aegon aside." Dany had a way of blending reassurance and commands. "When that's done, we will travel north together, I'll visit Lady Sansa, and whoever else you choose, to seek their blessing before we wed. They fought a war to escape the Iron Throne. They deserve to know I will not be a tyrant."

"Lyanna Mormont. She's the tough one," he grunted, still uncomfortable from Dany's weight. "Half the rest won't care. The other half will make a grand show of refusing to kneel, but they'll come around once you get enough mead in them."

Dany laughed at his discomfort and stroked his cheek. "And if I hate mead? Because I do? Because it's vile?" She asked playfully.

"Then it's war," he smiled.

"Is that so?" She put her forehead to his, kissed him, and smiled wickedly. "I would crush you, sweet nephew."

Jon shifted in his chair. "You're already crushing me," he winced.

She smiled, stood, and beckoned to Irri. "Help me out of this, sweetling," she commanded, and turned around so Irri could reach the buckles on her back that held it on. 

Irri stepped forward, removed Dany's breastplate, and put it away in a far corner. When she returned, she found the Queen facing her, still clad in her mail. Dany was still trying not to actively seduce her, but when their eyes nonetheless locked, Irri stopped in her tracks. The woman could halt a charging  _khalasar_  with the right gaze.

Her next thought was sudden and unexpected.  _Just let your body lead you. Let her eyes lead you._ With that, she glided forward, dropped to her knees and looked up. Dany's eyes never broke away.  _She led me_.

"May I,  _Khaleesi_?" Irri asked, gesturing at her boots.  _A handmaiden 'shall,' but a slut 'may.'_  She did not expect to find herself kneeling so suddenly, but she could no longer contain herself. She could not remember the last time she saw Dany so elegantly terrifying as today. She felt Jon's eyes on her, observing. He kept silent, but seemed to rather enjoy the sight. Dany said nothing either. Her face was cautiously predatory.

The Queen moved half a step closer, resting her hand on her  _arakh_. Irri watched her brush her thumb against the hilt, and could feel it on her clit. Her breathing was shallow, and she was growing wet.

"Is that your wish, sweetling? Was that a flash of lust and nothing more? Or are you truly ready to give yourself to me again?"Before Irri could form a response, Dany put two fingers under her chin and lifted it so their eyes met. "Think before you speak." 

Irri pretended to think, then nodded. "I want it,  _Khaleesi_." 

"Even though I hurt you? And failed you?"

All she could do was keep nodding. 

Jon leaned forward in his chair. "She won't fail you again, my lady," he declared. Both she and Dany looked over at him, but his eyes were fixed on the Queen, besting her at the staring game for once. "She laments what she did grievously. She wears a mask around you, but in truth she's been inconsolable since I arrived."

Irri looked at him, surprised and confused.  _Does he not love her? Does he not want her for himself?_  That's what men did, after all; claim women for themselves.

Jon looked at Irri and paused, signaling he may have been presumptuous. "Only you can decide this. But it would make her very happy to have you again." He stopped again. "I hardly know you, my lady. But I mean you no harm. If you can't, then so be it. But I love this woman, I know what pleases her, and I know what a beautiful thing it is to give her what she wants."  _He's right. There is nothing more beautiful._  "I think you know that as well." 

All of this overwhelmed her. She craved this, but she was still afraid. "She is not invincible," Jon continued.  _What makes you so certain?_  "She will not hurt you with me here." The King in the North seemed like a man of his word, and he was too important in too many ways for Dany to simply cut his tongue out and leave him for some guard to clean up.

Irri kept silent.  _This is the woman who commanded a stranger to rape you, and nearly killed you with her own hands_ , a voice in her mind urged.

Dany looked over to Jon. "Rise." There was an eagerness; a lust in his eyes as he did. Suddenly, the King's presence was not as comforting to her.  _I can't. Not with another man_.  _Not after the oarsman._

"Please,  _Khaleesi_ , don't make me--"

Dany shook her head. "No, no, sweetling. Not like that. He's a sweet boy, and will not harm you, truly." Dany had done things to Irri that disgusted and terrified her. She'd justified tricking men into awful, torturous suffering on the grounds that she never promised she wouldn't. But for all the horrible things she'd done, when she did make a promise, she kept it.

The Queen took her  _arakh_ off her belt. Irri remained where she was, paralyzed with fear. "Watch, my dear." Irri feared the Queen would prove that Jon would not harm her by taking his head before he had the chance. 

Instead, she ordered him to kneel next to Irri. When his knees hit the floor, she rested the flat of the blade under his chin, the edge not quite touching his throat. Jon took a deep breath but otherwise stayed motionless.

"It's not the blade he fears," she explained. "He likes the blade. He  _wants_  it. He fears what would happen if he balked and pulled away." Irri caught Jon biting his lip. "He knows it would displease me. Perhaps I would beat him for it, perhaps I wouldn't. But my disappointment alone is punishment enough. Isn't it, my love?" She asked him.

"Yes, Your Grace," he replied dutifully.

Irri could never follow all of the Westerosi rules for who addressed whom with what titles and when, but she knew that a King did not call a foreign Queen by that title unless he meant to make himself her subject.

"That's all I want you to fear, sweetling." Dany said soothingly, looking back at her and leaving Jon motionless on his knees. The King merely stared straight ahead like a well-trained guard.

And with that, she succumbed. Something about Jon was different. She'd put blades to Irri's throat before, but it  _was_  always the blade she feared.  _Or so I thought?_  In moments like that, the Dany she knew would never have promised she was safe. That Dany wanted her to feel the opposite. It always worked, and it soaked her cunt like nothing else. But it also left her feeling hurt at the end, and Jon looked anything but hurt.

"Now, my precious slut, is this what you want?" 

Irri did not remember answering. She may have said yes, or nodded, or knelt there gaping. But the next thing she knew, Dany's warm, soft lips were on hers, their tongues intertwined, a soft moan escaping from both of them. She felt a warmth, a stirring, move through her body. It started in her chest and flowed through her veins to her arms, legs, face, hands, and feet. She felt herself growing weak, and her  _Khaleesi_  growing stronger. She felt herself  _wanting_ to grow weaker; to give Dany every ounce of her strength, to do as she pleased with it.

Dany stepped back and admired the sight of Irri back down on her knees, where she'd spent so much time before. Where she'd never felt a greater sense of purpose. Where she'd worshipped this living goddess with her suffering. Irri wanted to latch herself onto Dany's leg and never let go, but she knew better than to move without leave.

"You would unlace my boots next," Dany confirmed.

"Please,  _Khaleesi._ "

The Queen thought about that for a moment. "No," she ordained. The word hit Irri like an arrow through the chest, but Dany's smile only grew. She pointed to Jon. "Show him how to do it."

Irri froze. She did not know what to say.

Dany seemed to have anticipated that. "Don't think. Just show him. Like he's a new handmaiden." She looked back at Jon. "That's what I mean to make him. He wants it." Her voice was thick with a dark sense of excitement. Jon blushed like a maid.

"You mean I should--"

"You should stop asking questions and obey," she reminded her, sweetly. "Have you forgotten?" 

 _No, I could never forget._  "No,  _Khaleesi._ Please forgive my insolence."

"Show me why you deserve my forgiveness, then," she challenged her, taking a step backward and sinking back into her chair. "Come. Both of you." She waved them forward.

Irri and Jon both crawled closer to their Queen. Their eyes locked, amazed and comforted that they both knew exactly how she wanted them to approach.

Dany turned those mystifying purple eyes of hers to Jon. "You've unlaced a pair of boots before, have you not?" 

"Yes, Your Grace." 

 _He's a man grown, of course he has._  Yet Jon answered it with an entranced reverence that dare not betray an opinion on the question.

"Do it, then. My serving girl will correct you when you bugger it up. Which you will. Because I know you."

Jon nodded. "Thank you, Your Grace."

He began with the knot, which Irri had tied that morning in a fashion common among Dothraki riders, but not in Westeros. Jon was clearly puzzled by it.

Dany looked at Irri and smiled knowingly, taking pleasure at the small jape they shared. Irri moved to intervene, but Dany shook her head and addressed her in Dothraki. "Not yet. Let him struggle," she smirked. Jon gave both of them a confused look, but knew better than to ask questions. Irri smiled back at Dany, who stroked her hair, sweetly. Irri gave her hand a quick kiss as it brushed by the side of her face. Even Dany had to blush.

Dany gave Irri a mockingly impressed smile as Jon finally untied the knot, but it disappeared when he shoved a finger down between the laces and began to yank them apart. She switched back to the Common Tongue "Is that how I like it, girl?"

The question made Jon stop and look up at Dany, and then at Irri, then back at Dany, bewildered.  _He thought he might be the girl._  That made something stir in her.

"No,  _Khaleesi_ ," Irri replied.

"Go on, then. Correct him."

Irri reached over and gently lifted Jon's hands off of her  _Khaleesi_ 's boots. He complied, eager for the guidance.

"No, no.  _Correct_  him. Give him a good slap. That's how my pets learn, you know that better than anyone."

Jon turned to Irri, almost presenting his cheek for her.  _He wants me to_ , she realized. _She wants to see if I have it in me._  Irri wasn't sure she did. She didn't know what kind of monster it would unleash.

But Irri didn't have time to think. Dany was looking at her, expectantly. 

The slap Irri gave the King was gentle. A sad thing, truly. Any weaker and it would have been more of a caress. But something about the way Jon reacted was oddly exciting. By instinct, she braced herself to be slapped back, but Jon simply recoiled. She caught a flash of pleasure cross his face before he blushed and smiled shyly.  _He is beautiful when he blushes._

"Thank you," he murmured. 

Dany had long ago trained her to respond to pain with gratitude, but it felt strange to be the one being thanked. Jon was highborn; as high as it got. And a man. Serving girls did not hit men. They did not hit nobles. She had hit Dany before, but only in defense of her own life. If she had done that to the wrong  _Khal_ , it would have meant a more painful death, or rape by every man in the  _khalasar_. She would never have earned back her honor. But she sensed that with Jon, all she would do was leave him wanting more.

She looked up at Dany, who seemed to know exactly what she was thinking.  _More men should thank us for hurting them,_  she realized.  _'They should, for so many reasons,'_  Dany's eyes replied. 

Outwardly, the Queen was unimpressed. "Oh, I  _know_  you can hit harder than that, sweetling. Go on. Hit him again."

Irri gave him a harder slap. Still hesitant, but more confident than the first time.  _How much can I hurt him before it's no longer a game?_

"He's a man. He'll do as he pleases unless you forbid it."  _She's right._  "He'll never follow you until he knows his insolence has consequences." Dany chided her. 

The third was a true slap. Not the hardest she could have given, but hard enough that Jon grimaced. She was coming to understand why Dany took such pleasure in seeing how far she could push someone.

"Better. Now show him how I like it."

Even when they were not playing, the Queen tended to grow anxious if certain things were not done in a particular, precise way. Keeping her shoes and boots immaculate was one of them.

Irri made eye contact with Jon, then took a single end of the lace and pulled it out through the first eyelet. She continued with the same end, taking care not to tug too hard. "The  _Khaleesi_  must not feel you pulling back and forth," she explained to Jon. As she got farther down, she held the lace carefully so it would not flail about when she pulled it. 

"You must take care with it. It's not yours to toss about. It's hers." Teaching someone else how to please the Queen gave her a sense of accomplishment. When the lace was all the way out, she wrapped it carefully around her hand and tied it so it would stay neat and compact. She removed Dany's boot and put the lace inside.

Dany smiled down at her. "Such a good girl. Let him do the next one, but first, take his cock out."

 _Must I?_ She must have given Dany a look. "Trust me, sweetling. It's not going inside you unless you want it. It's for his suffering, not yours. It clouds his thoughts. A man has not truly learned a lesson until he can remember it while his cock is hard."

"As you say,  _Khaleesi._ " She reached for his breeches, still not convinced she wanted to. 

Dany sensed it. "Take your bastard cock out for the serving girl," she commanded Jon, firmly.

"As you command, Your Grace." Jon tried to comply, but his cock was too hard for him to simply slide his pants off, and it became a struggle.

Dany giggled as Jon pushed himself off his heels, and after various gyrations, finally managed to get it out and sit back down.

 _That belongs to her_ , Irri reminded herself.

Dany handed her a small bottle of olive oil from the small table next to her. "Stroke him a bit. Wipe his mind."

Irri did as she was bid. 

"Brush your thumb over the head. It turns him into a damned fool."

She was right. Jon arched his back and let out a moan that sounded like it could have been a word, had he still had the wits to form one. It occurred to Irri that the only times she had held a man's cock before was to position him to enter her. She had never touched it for its own sake, or taken the time to think about how it felt. 

All she felt was power. The power it gave Jon by the mere fact that he was born with it. The power he must feel when he presses it into a soft wet cunt, when he thrusts it mercilessly into a woman as the madness builds inside both of them, and when he plants his seed and claims her. 

And in that moment, she thought of the power it gave her. She knew she'd made him weak. That he would give much and more to keep her from stopping. That now he'd want it every time he saw her, and would make a fool of himself to get it.  _The_ Khaleesi  _knows this. She does not pretend otherwise._ She saw now just how much power Dany derived from it when she wanted to. It gave her a rush.  _I could have that, too._

She wanted to tease him more, to suck it until she could feel him about to burst, and stop at the last moment. To rub it against her cunt but never let him inside. To stroke him until he finished but dig her nails into it as he did, and deny him most of his pleasure.  _It would teach him that whether he takes pleasure in spilling seed is not for him to decide._ That made her wet.  _He must earn that._

She thought back to her youth, in the  _khalasar. No Dothraki man would abide this_ , she was certain.  _They would simply rape me. I can only do this with this man because rape is not in his nature._

But then it hit her.  _No. Rape is in every man's nature. But so is this. Men choose. They are taught. If Daenerys could tame Drogo, any man can be broken._ The thought excited her. If a man could be trained like a pet, she wanted one.  _This one. Or at least to play with him._

She was mindlessly stroking, lost in thought. Dany cleared her throat, glaring down impatiently.

"Forgive me,  _Khaleesi,_ " she begged. 

Dany grabbed her hair and trapped her with that gaze again. "That's two things you'd have me forgive you for." She spat in her face. "Earn it."

She'd forgotten how it felt to be treated so harshly. The disgust and anger washed over her, but melted into bliss when she remembered who had done it to her. She almost moaned, but knew Daenerys was in no mood to watch her handmaiden wallow about in what a filthy spit-covered slut she was. There was another boot to unlace, and a boy--a King, but now truly, a boy--to teach. 

"Let him play with the knot again," Dany instructed. "Let's see if he can be any quicker about it this time." He was, but Dany still enjoyed watching him confound himself over it. Jon did his best removing the laces, but ultimately failed again, as the Queen knew was inevitable.

This time, correcting him came easier, and unprompted. "No," Irri told Jon, firmly. Her stare made his eyes widen. She liked that.

 _He expects a slap_ , she wagered.  _I should not give him what he expects_. Instead, she twisted his cock and dug her nails into the underside of his shaft. Jon's whole body seemed to twist with it. He fell to one side, propping himself up on one elbow. The scream was higher in pitch than Jon's normal voice.  _He sounds like a girl._ She wondered if it would please the Queen to teach him a young lady's courtesies.

That got Dany's attention. "My little slut is learning rather quickly, isn't she?"Dany reached down and stroked her cheek. "Because she's had an excellent teacher, isn't that so?"

Irri nuzzled against Dany's hand and arm, savoring the feeling of their skin touching. It had been far too long. She looked up, smiling so widely that her cheekbones started to hurt. "Yes,  _Khaleesi._ " 

"Keep stroking, don't let him lose it. I love watching him suffer with his cock hard." The Queen began to unlace her breeches so she could touch her cunt while taking in the sight. "Is it not beautiful, sweetling?"

"It is,  _Khaleesi._ " She was not saying that merely because it was the answer Dany wanted. There was something immensely satisfying about robbing a man of every advantage the laws of gods and men gave him. Some deeply powerful statement in a man accepting pain to please her, even though he could easily push her away.

Dany spoke to her in Dothraki again. "Give it a little kiss, dear. Cocks are such delicate little things. They take after their owners in that way. They must be coddled, stroked, paid constant attention, or they collapse and shrink down to nothing. Especially bastard cocks like this one. Watch his face when I say the word," she smiled, before switching back to the Common Tongue, " _bastard_."

Irri saw Jon cringe, which only made her want to learn what other things she could say to hurt him like that. Her fear giving way to an almost desperate lust, she planted a soft kiss on Jon's cock, gave it a lick, then teased his head a bit. But as soon as she took it into her mouth, she felt her head being lifted up by the hair, and the sting of Dany's hand on her cheek.

"Enough. Did I say you could do that?"

"No,  _Khaleesi_."  _I have forgotten myself. I acted without her leave. She_   _should punish me for being such an insolent cunt._ She missed having thoughts like that. 

"Don't give the boy too much too soon. He has a fondness for Dothraki women, he's like to spill his seed before he knows what's happening." She leaned down right into her face. "And that's my toy you're playing with.  _My_  seed. It goes where I say it does." She kissed her, biting her lower lip and dragging it through her teeth as she pulled away. "Now get this fucking boot off, it's been far too long."

"Yes,  _Khaleesi_." 

Irri felt a wetness between her legs and found her hips grinding against nothing in particular. It felt good to be put in her place again, but her lust was still tinged with mischief. She grinned at Jon the way Dany would grin at her.  _There are two of us now, bastard_. Irri didn't even know who her father was, but that made no matter. This boy had grown up believing himself a bastard, and he suffered for it. And Irri increasingly found herself wondering if she might enjoy poking those wounds as Dany did.

The boot came off soon enough. Dany stood. Both of her pets rose at the same time, but Dany put a hand on Irri's shoulder and pressed her back down.

"Not you. You finish the breeches. And be quick about it." Dany was growing more aroused and less patient. She took the mail off herself and dropped it unceremoniously on the floor. Irri looked up at her and pulled her breeches off just slowly enough to light a spark of impatience in her eyes.  _You're not the only one who can tease,_ Khaleesi.

Dany sensed what the girl was doing, dropped her pants to her ankles, stepped out of them, and shoved Irri's face into her crotch by the back of the head. "Filthy bitch.  _Worship it_."

Irri salivated, grateful to the Queen for refusing to abide her insolence, and began lapping like a well-lathered horse at a trough. Parched. Almost angry. Bewildered at how she went this long without it.

Dany leaned forward. Irri knew that meant to get on her back. Dany fell seamlessly to her knees on top of her servant's face and began to ride it, slowly, but forcefully.  _Yes, please, please, please, claim me again. I'm yours._

From the corner of her eye, Irri spotted Dany wave Jon over. He came, threw off his own breeches, and stood directly in front of Dany. She saw Dany grab his cock and pull it toward her mouth. Irri looked up as Jon took the Queen's hair, holding her head in place as he slid his cock deeper into her throat. She had never seen any woman, anywhere, swallow a cock so deeply without a hint of a gag. Dany moaned softly from the pleasure Irri was giving her, which only led Jon to moan himself. Irri wanted to touch her cunt, but couldn't reach it around Dany's legs, so it was all she could do to simply writhe around desperately. 

 _I want it_ , she thought, watching Jon's cock glide in and out of the Queen's mouth; glistening; dripping.  _I want it in me. It's mine._  That was a dangerous thought, but it grew from a seed that Dany had planted herself. 

Dany pushed her weight down on Irri's face, cutting off her air and forcing her to readjust her head. Irri kept her tongue focused on Dany's clit the whole time, like a good little cunt wench, and looked up to make sure there was no sign on Dany's face that she had missed a beat. But Dany was unreadable. Her eyes were closed; her lips sealed around Jon's cock; every part of her devoted to pleasing this man who was to be her King.  _Lucky bitch_. That was dangerous too.

Jon was getting closer; it was plain. Before he got too close, Dany pushed him away, stood up, and put a hand on his chest. Irri's tongue reached into the air for a heartbeat, as if to pull it back down onto her face.

Dany pushed Jon toward the bed. "On your back." She looked down at Irri and slapped her face with the sole of her foot. "You. Up." Irri rose, her mind cloudy. Jon was on the bed, his cock twitching. "You want that boy, don't you, slut?"

Irri could not deny it. She nodded.

"I knew you would. I know what you are. Mount him."

 _Gladly._  Irri hurried to the bed and straddled the bastard. She had never been on top with a man before. Men had always simply pumped her full of seed and nothing more. None had ever thought to lay back and let her take her pleasure. At best they would have thought it a distraction, and at worst, dangerous, to be quashed before she grew to like it. 

She took Jon's cock in her hand and pumped it a few more times, smiling wickedly.  _I could do this until he goes mad,_ she thought. But today, her Queen had worked her up into too much of a frenzy. She needed a cock inside her. This one. Daenerys's toy. The one she's not to play with unless commanded.

"Go on, do it," Dany bid her, gazing lovingly into her slut's eyes as she climbed onto Jon's face. "He knows to keep still, just do what you would with him." 

 _'Do what you would with him.'_ Irri had only faint notions of what she "would do" with a man. She'd never thought she'd have the chance. The question had always been what he would do to her. But it became much clearer as she slid down onto his cock. It took a moment to acclimate herself, but her body learned quickly enough. As she grew more confident, something inside her told her ever more insistently not to let this boy move an inch without her leave.

Dany's face was temptingly close, but Irri was too consumed with pleasure to lean over for a kiss, andstill hesitant to leave the exact position she had found most pleasurable. Instead, Dany rose ever so slightly and slid her feet under Jon's head so he could still reach her cunt with his tongue. Dany came to hear, leaning over and kissing her softly on the mouth, teasing with her tongue. They both put their hands on the other's face at the same time. Irri could feel each of Dany's fingers caressing her cheeks as they kissed. Every move they made. The warmth, the softness, the love Dany bore her. She could feel the tension melting from her body and flowing out through her cunt.

Slowly, but maddeningly, the Queen began to pull away as she grew closer to her peak. The last time Dany had been this aroused in Irri's presence, she'd almost choked the life from her. Yet there was no bloodlust in her eyes this time. Her look was steely and piercing, but behind it was a yearning that Dany was still afraid to acknowledge.

Irri was getting closer herself. Only then did it occur to her that this spark while a man--a King, for that matter--lay beneath them, motionless, save for his tongue and the pulsing in his cock. The only thing strange about it was how little Irri felt it strange. It seemed silly to think he would be anywhere else. It would feel stranger if he were only pleasuring one of them, or if he were treating them roughly without Daenerys commanding it. 

Dany took her pleasure the way she normally did. Loudly. Roughly. With an utter disregard for Jon's comfort and a primal need to mark him as her property. When he'd been duly marked, she climbed off of him and knelt behind him near the head of the bed. She leaned down and briefly kissed him on the mouth before moving to his face, licking up the juices of her own cunt, and biting lightly just below his cheekbone. It caught Jon by surprise. He gasped and twitched, and Irri felt his cock throb like it was ready to burst. 

"Don't do it. Don't you  _fucking_  do it," she whispered into his ear, holding a clump of his hair in one hand and wrapping the other one around his throat. "She's mine, just like you are. You're to please her until she's done. Defy me and see how much I'll make you suffer. She's my precious girl. You're the  _bitch_  she mounts when she's earned it."

Irri could barely contain herself.  _Pain will help him._ The thought came as naturally to her as the urge to scratch an itch. She reached down and pinched Jon's nipples. He let out a scream. 

Dany bit her lip; surprised, proud, and eager to push them both. "Yes! Such a good girl, now twist."

Irri did, and watched Jon suck his breath through his teeth, grit them, biting his tongue, trying anything he could to cope with the pain. It felt almost as if she were observing herself from the outside as her cunt started to pulse and spasm. She was serving her Queen and making a man suffer at the same time. She felt safe, owned, cherished, but powerful.  _Has this always been in me?_

"Yes!" Dany exclaimed wickedly, tightening her grip in both hands as Jon convulsed. Irri could not say if the Queen was merely taking pleasure in Jon's pain, or if she'd been inside her mind and was answering her question. Sometimes with Dany it was hard to tell. She hoped it was both.

Irri felt herself nearing the edge. She leaned forward, grabbed Jon's shoulders and looked him dead in his eyes. She could not have said what her face looked like; she was too engulfed in her own pleasure. But whatever it was, it struck a fear into Jon that Irri thought only Daenerys knew how to strike in anyone. She felt the muscles in her cunt pulling at Jon's cock, like deep down she were trying to rip it off and consume it, to teach him a lesson. Dany quickly released Jon and moved behind her, though to Irri it was all just a blur.

Without warning, heartbeat before she reached the point of no return, Irri felt the cheeks of her ass spread, and the Queen's middle finger slide into it. Her muscles clenched around it instinctively, drawing it in further. When she reached her peak, her panting became a loud, sustained scream that made Jon cringe as she slammed her weight down on him and Dany pushed her finger in deeper with each thrust. Dany knew exactly where Irri's weak spots were, and the extra pressure made her even more sensitive to every twitch and throb of Jon's cock. The scream turned to a grunt, and for a moment Irri blacked out. There was no sound, no light, nothing but the sensation of being filled, and for the first time in her life, having two people devoted entirely to her pleasure.

Almost.

"Get off," Dany commanded, as soon as Irri began to come down. Irri's cunt was reluctant to abandon its position, but her mind knew better than to disobey. She was sore and her hips were more tired then she realized. She rolled off of Jon and lay next to him, basking in the afterglow.

But the Queen was not done. "Pay attention." 

Irri sat up against the headboard, watching as Dany slowly stroked Jon's cock, then let it go. "He's about to burst. Look at him. He'll need a moment."

Irri looked.  _She's right, plainly_. She looked up into Jon's eyes and kissed him. He kissed back and she felt herself stirring again.  _The Queen chooses her toys well_.

"Where should I let him finish?" Irri was surprised that Dany would seek her opinion on such matters. She blushed and smiled, as if she was a maid and Dany was a knight asking to wear her favor. "Did he please you well?"

"Very much so,  _Khaleesi_. Did you not hear me?"

Dany smiled. "Half the castle heard you, sweetling. But that was not him pleasuring you. That was him holding still while you pleased yourself."

Irri had never been down this line of thought before, but followed Dany eagerly. Dany took Jon's cock in her hand once more. "Did he suffer enough? Did he forget himself? Did his cock ever grow soft? If he did well, I'll let him finish in my cunt."

Irri paused for a moment. " _Must_  we let him finish,  _Khaleesi_?"  _He may not obey if I treat him too kindly_. She was still uncertain where these thoughts were coming from, but welcomed them all the same.

A pure and unmistakably evil smile grew on Dany's face as she let out a surprised but very satisfied laugh. "Oh, yes, my slut asks such insightful questions!"  _I love being her slut, but has this changed things_? "Have you ever denied a man his pleasure before?"

"No,  _Khaleesi_ ," she replied, hoping for a lesson.

"They grow stubborn. Insolent. Outright rude sometimes, truth be told."

"Your Grace...please...." Jon managed to inject.

"Shut your bastard mouth while my sweetling and I are speaking," Dany told him, just playfully enough to dilute the hostility. She turned back to Irri. "See? Can you manage that?"

"I don't know,  _Khaleesi_." She looked over at Jon again.

Dany thought for a moment. "Not yet, most like. But that's why I'm here." The evil smile spread to Irri as well, mixed with genuine love and gratitude.  _Please don't hurt me again,_ Khaleesi _. I don't want to stop this. "_ Don't let any insolence go unpunished, do you understand?"

"Yes,  _Khaleesi_."

"Good. I shall guide you."  _Please, always be here to guide me_. "You may still finish him yourself, if you like. Or not. The choice is yours. Do what you would with him."  _'Do what you would,'_  she repeated to herself. But Irri had made her decision, and would not be swayed. Her eyes narrowed as she turned to Jon. "Put your breeches back on." Jon's cock was tapping against his stomach. He looked at both of them, hoping for a hint of mercy, but found none.

The next morning, Dany summoned the Hand to her chambers. He entered dressed for a ride, though Dany was still in the linens she'd slept in.

"Your Grace, may I ask why you were wearing armor yesterday?" Tyrion asked once the pleasantries were over. 

"I thought I was to receive your head without the rest of you. I meant to ride for Dragonstone as soon as I saw it, and rain Wildfire on Braavos as soon as night fell."

Tyrion sighed. 

"You're not dead, so it makes no matter," she continued. "But much has happened since you've been gone, and it's become a rather urgent matter."

Tyrion was no fool, and took her meaning. "As long as they've washed all of this matter out of my sheets, is it truly my business?"

"Yes. I mean to marry him."

"Your Grace, I must advise that this--"

"You advised me at Castle Black. It was wise counsel, and you meant the best for me and the Realm. But I was unhappy. I still am. Aegon is a fool. An arrogant fool. He means to push me aside and govern the Realm himself. He's a creature of Littlefinger, or the Braavosi, or both."

"And his justification for this?"

Dany merely gave him a look. "The same as always. That I'm mad, and I can't be trusted not to burn half the world down when I get my moon's blood." She paused. "And that I'm a deviant who has been carrying on some obscene affair with my handmaiden."

"And that's true, but irrelevant."

Dany was unsure how to answer. Tyrion looked at Irri, sympathetically, knowingly, but searching her face for clues as to how she felt about it. Irri had never been certain how to conduct herself around men like Tyrion. He was highborn, but treated her kindly. He clearly had Daenerys's trust, but Irri never knew if that meant he should have hers as well. Eventually he gave up and broke off his gaze.

"Your Grace, may I speak frankly?"

Dany nodded.

"I've seen the manacles hanging from the ceiling. Do you normally bring thieves and rapers into your bedchamber for safekeeping?" 

 _You would be surprised, my lord_.

Tyrion went on. "The only other places I've seen manacles like that are dungeons and brothels. Expensive ones. I'd be a fool not to know what that was. Hiding this love is like hiding Drogon in your privy chamber." He took a sip of wine. "But stopping yourself is as easy as stopping Drogon from shitting where he pleases. You're a Targaryen. It's in your blood."

"Madness, you mean," Dany replied, annoyed at how often she's reminded of it.

"Brilliance, Your Grace. Some brilliant men can do sums in their head in an instant where others would need to work it out on paper. Some can make beautiful music before they can talk. You, on the other hand...well, you beat your lovers bloody."

"So Ramsay Bolton was a prodigy? Theon Greyjoy his work of art?"

"Ramsay was mad, of course. The difference is his motives. He broke Theon down and rebuilt him weaker than he was to begin with. He took fingers and toes and the poor man's cock merely because it pleased him.  _That's_  madness."

Dany looked away for a moment.  _She dares not mention the oarsman._ "But when I do it, it makes me brilliant," she finally repeated, skeptically.

"That you aren't dead yet despite everything that's happened to you from the day you were born makes you brilliant. You do this  _because_  you're brilliant. You broke the world down and rebuilt it to better suit your liking. Because you don't simply accept the world as it is. You see what it can be, what it  _should_  be. You see its weaknesses and cannot help yourself but to use them for your advantage. And you've done the same with this girl. You do it because it's not enough to play with her cunt and go to sleep. You need to give her a place, and a purpose. To make her better than what she was when you found her."  _At her best, yes._

Tyrion looked at Irri. She nodded in response.

"I thought we trusted each other enough not to speak in trite flatteries, Lord Tyrion."

"This is not flattery, Your Grace. I've had many an idle conversation with many a whore in my life. I know who the smart ones are, and I know what they like. If whores had their own Citadel, I'd wager you could be Archmaester." 

 _If he were anyone else, his tongue would already be in the brazier._  Yet Dany merely chuckled. "That's very kind of you, my lord, but the High Septon may be of a different mind."

"Of course, Your Grace. If Aegon reveals this, it may well be your head, and mine, and hers. But I assume you suspect he's got his own secrets, hence our jaunt in the Kingswood?" 

Dany nodded. "Mhm."

"Connington?"

"Who else?"

Tyrion laughed. "Many and more, I'd wager, but the old man will do. You mean to set the King aside, discredit anything he says about your handmaiden, and use the opportunity to marry the King in the North?"

"Precisely."

"And you do not fear he will covet the Iron Throne?"

"He would much rather serve than rule." 

Tyrion smiled, holding in the jape on his tongue. 

Dany shot him a quick glare. Irri held back a smile. "He governs the North because he has to, and he hates it," the Queen explained. "I do not fear his ambition."

Tyrion thought for a moment. "If you did, would you care?"

"Not a fig."

"You love him."

"I do." _She means it._

Tyrion paused and thought. "Very well. Then there's no sense--"

There was a knock, and the guard announced the Grand Maester.

"Send him in," Dany ordered.

Sam entered, pale-faced. "A raven, Your Grace." He handed her the parchment, unsealed but rolled up, his hand shaking. "In Lady Arya's hand."

Dany snatched it from him. Her face dropped. "I am alive and well,  _in the Eyrie,_ " she read aloud. "Your  _treachery_  has voided the Iron Bank's obligation to remain neutral in your Realm's affairs. The Sealord has chosen to back the claim to the Throne of Lord Petyr Baelish... _my betrothed..._ " Her own hands were shaking now. She looked up at Tyrion, then continued. "...and will commit whatever resources necessary to defend his rightful rule over Westeros, unless you pay your debt in full, and sign a treaty not to meddle in the affairs of the Free Cities."

She sat back in her chair and bit her lip, staring into space, fighting back tears. "Get Jon," she commanded Sam. " _Now!_ " Sam ran faster than Irri knew a man that fat could move.

Dany handed the letter to Tyrion, who inspected the mockingbird seal, and seemed satisfied that it was genuine. Dany grabbed his cup of wine and hurled it onto the floor, before he could take a sip build his courage and buy time to form a response. Irri flinched.  _Last night was so good,_ Khaleesi _. Please don't do this._

Dany's voice was so loud it made Irri and the Hand both grimace. "By what right does that child-fucking  _SNAKE_  Petyr Baelish think he--" 

Tyrion took what may have been his last opportunity to inject some reason. "Lord Baelish didn't become  _Lord_  Baelish by only doing what he has a right to do," he interrupted her.

Before Dany could respond, Jon burst in, trailed by Sam. "Where's the note?!"

Tyrion handed it to him, cautiously, gauging him.

Jon read it just enough to make sure it was Arya's hand. 

"She'll switch his balls with his eyes before they consummate it," Sam tried to reassure him.

Jon paid Sam no mind. He looked at Dany, and they nodded to each other. “My lady," he turned to Irri, "fetch the Queen's armor."


	6. Daenerys III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Our fathers were evil men, all of us here. They left the world worse than they found it. We're not going to do that."
> 
> \--Daenerys, _Game of Thrones_ Season 6 Episode 10

"Find any wild boar up there?" Bronn asked as he pulled Lord Connington’s mouth from Aegon's ass and slammed him onto the floor of the cabin. "Pheasants? Grouse?"  
  
Dany stood near the door, armored, watching as her Queensguard pulled Aegon off the bed by his ankles.  
  
The Mummer’s Dragon struggled as they tied his hands behind his back. “What kind of twisted cunt are you?!" He cried.

 _The kind that gets wet from this_.  
  
"Shall this one cut his tongue out, Your Grace?" One of her Queensguard asked as he pulled Aegon to his feet.  
  
"No, he'll need it later. Gag him, though. The Kingswood should be my refuge from the sound of shrieking whores." _He looks good like that, though_ , she noticed, as he fidgeted naked and helpless.

She turned to Tyrion as he, Jon, and Sam entered, stepping over the wooden battering ram the Unsullied had used to break the door down. "You were right, my lord." 

They would not have been there had Tyrion not once again shaken Dany out of her rage, moments before she was to mount Drogon and reduce Braavos to dust.  
  
"There should be witnesses,” he told her. “Men from the other Free Cities who can tell the slavers what they saw." She liked that. 

"And even if you raze Braavos this instant, you still have to contend with Littlefinger and Aegon. Braavos will still be there in a fortnight for you to do with as you please. But play this game foolishly enough, and King’s Landing may not."

Before Jon, that would have vexed her, and her slut would have suffered for it. But things had been different since he arrived. _‘If you want to rule like a true Queen, become the child wandering the desert with nothing again.’_ The words stuck with her. In the desert, there had been no Realm, no army, no lords or Small Councils fighting for land or coin or power. Just her bloodriders, handmaidens, Ser Jorah, and the weakest of Drogo’s former _khalasar_. No one had foretold greatness for her. Her only concern was finding food and water to get through the next day of wandering. 

She was one of the youngest among them.  A foreigner and a girl, in a culture that looked down on both. But when her children hatched and they saw who she was, it compelled their unfailing loyalty. There was nothing to rule, but suddenly there were people to lead. So she led them, because she had no choice. Questioning or straying from her meant death; not by her hand, but by the elements of nature.

The love that grew between her and Jon was the same. She listened to him when he told her she was going too far, but he only failed to bend when bending itself meant breaking. Short of that, he pushed, and pushed, and pushed to give more of himself to her. To dive deeper into her thrall. Because he needed to. He’d seen what was at the core of her being, and like her followers in the Red Waste, he went to his knees. There was nowhere else to go. And leaving her service would mean a slow, agonizing starvation of his soul.

He gave her every ounce of himself that he could, but he was not afraid of her. She could do Jon no true harm, not merely because she would face war and be named a kinslayer, but because she loved him too much. He was such a beautiful man in so many ways, and no matter what the law said, she was already his Queen, and he deserved her best. She would give it to him, and as she learned from him, she would give it to her people. ‘ _Give them a reason to want it.’_ The Starks were not as foolish as the singers said. 

Consumed by that love, and determined to give it the place in her life it deserved, they rode for the Kingswood in search of Aegon and proof of her suspicions. It had only been a few days until they found Aegon’s horse tethered outside a forester's cabin. Her men surrounded it, broke down the door, and it was done.

"Question the old man separately," she ordered Bronn, as she approached her husband and watched the anger on his face turn to fear.

Aegon slumped against the wall with his legs open. Dany put the sole of her boot straight down onto his shrunken cock. She took her time watching him grit his teeth to hold back the scream. 

"Should I go easy on you too, or can you take more pain than a handmaiden?" _He can't_. "Maybe Lord Grandfather can lick your wounds when I'm done with you."  
  
Gleefully, she drew her arm up for a backhand, but Jon broke her out of the trance. "Daenerys!" _Seven hells._ But she knew he was right. “Leave him be!”

Jon had been surly of late, as men tend to get after being brought to the edge and denied their pleasure repeatedly. It had earned him a beating or two, but it made her cunt tingle every time he growled something so harsh and gruff and utterly out of line. That only meant more beatings.  
  
Dany lowered her arm, but pressed her foot down just a bit harder, as a consolation. "Grand Maester," she began, never breaking her gaze at Aegon. "If called to testify in a trial before the Crown, could you attest to what you just saw?"  
  
"I could, Your Grace."  
  
"What did you see?" Her tone was loud and deliberate. This was a formality, of course. Everyone knew what he saw, even before he saw it. But of all of the men accompanying her, Sam made the most credible witness.  
  
"I saw your royal husband and Lord Connington performing a deviant and abominable act." His answer sounded rehearsed, because it was.

"Are you sworn to my service, Grand Maester?"

 _‘No, Your Grace, but I'm terrified of you.’_ That was plain, and she loved it.

"No, Your Grace. I serve only the Realm."  
  
"Very good. The Realm thanks you. See that our marriage is properly annulled." Dany gave Aegon's cock one last press, spat in his face, and commanded her Queensguard to remove him from her presence. She turned to Tyrion. “If they did find any game, up his ass or otherwise, have it roasted for the men. They’ve earned it."

To her surprise, the old man and his whore had actually caught a large boar that morning, so Her Grace decided to feast with the fifty household guardsmen and fifty Northmen in their tents outside the cabin. She sat amongst them, drank their ale, shared her own wine, and asked about their lives. How was morale? Are the streets of Flea Bottom safe? Can a man find decent work? Are the whores happy? 

The men guarded their tongues around her at first, but once they were in their cups, she managed to pry out some filthy jokes and stories of their finest conquests. Half of them were dubious, and she mocked the ones that were the most obviously full of shit, to roars of laughter from the rest of the men. Dany was more comfortable among soldiers than she’d ever been in the Throne Room. She needed to be a _Khaleesi_ again for a night, and soon she would need the respect of every Northman she could find.

When she retired to the cabin, Dany had Aegon brought before her, unbound. She stood leaning against the foot of the bed as two Unsullied wordlessly tossed him through the threshold, kicked him to the floor, and left. Jon stood upright beside her, like a guard. Stone-faced, silent, and motionless.

Unlike the eunuchs, Jon felt pain, and fear, and doubt. He laughed, mourned, and raged when he didn’t get his way. He had desires other than what Dany wanted of him in that instant. But he had made the choice to put those feelings second to her will, trusting that through his suffering, she would make him happier than he could ever make himself. He could be anywhere right now. He could have any woman he wanted. But he was standing beside her, guarding her, waiting her next command almost impatiently, so he could show her yet again how eager he was to please and obey her. The Unsullied had their uses, but Dany found much greater satisfaction from Jon’s service than a trained follower she’d stolen from halfway across the world.

The King put his hand Longclaw, but made no other move. There was no need. The Mummer’s Dragon stood, shivering, covering his cock and balls with his hands.

"Who told you?" Daenerys Stormborn began.  
  
"Baelish.” _Why am I not surprised?_ There was a stubborn defiance in his tone.

"And you were fool enough to think he just admired you so much that he’d push me aside for you as a name day present?" Dany did not wait for a response. "He has Arya Stark with him at the Eyrie. He means to marry her, gain a claim on the North, and have the Braavosi take all of Westeros for him. All he needs of you is to divide the Realm and keep me from defending what’s mine. Has _anyone_ ever gained from standing between me and what’s mine?”

She let him sit with that for a moment and let the shame sink in. "Connington makes no matter to me, you know," she continued. "You and I bore no great love for each other, but have I ever shown you any ill will? I would have wanted you to be happy. Our marriage was a mummer's farce for the Realm. Why put on another for ourselves?"  
  
"I am the rightful--" _Does he truly believe that? Still?_

"You're my brother's get just as much as Jon is Ned Stark's, but we’ve known that for years, haven’t we? My children care for you like they care for the prisoners who shovel their shit. You have neither the brilliance nor the madness that runs in my blood. You're _ordinary_.” She said it with an icy contempt. “You’re a decoration. A pretty thing for the court to look at while your betters ruled."

“I--”

" _Silent_ , obedient, and gracious to guests," she cut him off again. "And had you played your part, I’d have let you drizzle the old man’s seed on your porridge if you wanted. But you needed more. You had to prove you could best me. But you’re too stupid. Too weak. Too vain. All you did was let stronger men trick you into becoming their puppet."  
  
The words flowed from Dany's mouth effortlessly. She had wanted to say them for a long time. As she listened to them, she felt herself stirring. _This is when it gets dangerous_ , she knew. She could say things like this to Jon, because she loved him, and he knew it. It was a game they played. But with this one, she meant what she said.  
  
Aegon fumbled for words that would wound her. "Do you truly believe that what you have with your handmaiden is love? You torture the poor girl."  
  
"Do not presume to know what I do with Irri, or how she feels about it."  
  
"My deepest apologies, Your Grace," Aegon mocked. "Mayhaps we’ll ask her at this trial you’re so eager for. Mayhaps we should ask the King in the North as well. Surely Lady Mormont would love to know what the man she trusted with her people’s sovereignty gets up to when he journeys south."  
  
Jon stepped forward and backhanded him across the face, knocking him to the floor. "It looks like that, but when I get hit, I stay up." Jon stepped back, as Aegon struggled to push himself up to his elbows.

 _Prickly tonight_. Dany looked over and smiled at her new King. _I should deny him more often_. She felt that lovely tingle again, but turned back to the task at hand. "If you mean to use what I do in my bedchamber against me, why can’t I do the same to you? Because I'm a woman?"  
  
"Because you're a _mad_ woman,” he sneered. “You’re not happy unless you're hurting someone."

"I’m not happy unless I'm burning down and remaking everything I touch. Sometimes I have to hurt people. Break them. Bend them to my will. Teach them to obey, and submit. If you were truly the blood of the Dragon, you would know it’s for their own good. Ask the Triarchs in the Bay of Dragons who rule alongside their former masters if this madness of mine is not what's best for the world. Ask my sweet handmaiden you're so concerned about. Ask the true King who stands before you."

Aegon was still struggling to get back onto his knees. 

"Get a chair," she told Jon. “This depresses me.” Jon went to the small table near the brazier, and pushed a chair to the center of the room with a solemn, dutiful aplomb that only a nephew and ward of Eddard Stark could push a chair. _This boy is precious_. “Bind him.”

Jon picked up a cord of rope from the floor and stepped toward the royal boywhore, pointing to the chair. “Don’t make this difficult.”

Her cunt was hoping he’d make it extremely difficult, but lamentably, Aegon was not so foolish. "I'm not opposed to letting you live,” she told him, distracted by the twisted beauty of Jon binding him to the arms and legs of the chair.

“But you have to punish me, don’t you? Beat me and play with your cunt and tell me how bad I am?” 

Dany rolled her eyes. _You’re not bad, you just don’t know yourself as well as I know you_. “No. Here’s how this will go. Please me tonight, renounce your titles, and we'll forego the trial. You'll stay at court, with accommodations befitting what you've fooled everyone into believing to be your station.”

“There will be rumors.”

She laughed, and glanced at Jon. “Rumors.” She turned her gaze back to the bound, naked man sitting before her. “There have been rumors about me since the night I mounted Drogo in front of his whole _khalasar_. Every potshop in the city has me fucking a different man. Jon, of course. And his wolf. Tyrion, Sam, Asha Greyjoy with Theon’s cock dipped in gold, every Dothraki I’ve ever come across, and their horses. Do you know the rumor they spread about you? They say you’re Daario Naharis in disguise.”

“If I’m so false, mayhaps I am.”

“You disguised your cock as three inches shorter?”

Aegon bristled. Jon’s face grew into an amused grin that made Dany want nothing more than to know what hid behind it. Some of his thoughts still escaped her, but soon or late she would see all of them before he did.

“You can stop this any time you wish, and receive as fair a trial as you otherwise would," Dany went on, as she began stripping Jon’s clothes off as casually as a washerwoman would take them off the line. "I will recuse myself, and you may raise any defense you wish. You can even call my sweetling to testify, and she will tell the truth. Though I must caution you, everyone will know by then.” She said it so casually. “The crown on her head will make it plain.”

The grin on Jon’s face vanished. For half a heartbeat she thought he might push her away. “We’ll talk later, sweetling,” she whispered to him, unlacing his breeches and leaning in for a kiss. Jon took the bait. Their lips touched briefly. “You will still be my husband, and my King. I'm not setting you aside. I promise.” She looked straight in his eyes, so he knew she meant it. 

By then, she had his cock in her hand, growing at the exact pace she set when she glided her fingers up the shaft toward the head. Her heart beat faster. She had never seen a harder cock on a man, and she’d seen her share. _Are you wroth with me, little man?_ She smiled down at it and squeezed. _Show me how wroth you are_.

Dany turned around to see Aegon looking exactly where she expected, and doing a piss-poor job of hiding it.  
  
"How long has it been, my love?" She asked Jon as she removed her own clothes, as if neither of them were there. Her body spoke for itself. She had no need to tantalize.

Jon understood the question. "Five days? A week? I can’t remember." He shrugged.  
  
_Too familiar._ She turned around and smacked him. "Do you forget yourself, bastard?"  
  
"Your Grace! Five days, maybe a week, Your Grace. Please forgive my insolence."

She smacked him again, for good measure, and for fun. "Never forget your courtesies in front of such honored guests as King Aegon the Throat-Cunt."  
  
"Yes, Your Grace. It won't happen again."

“See that it doesn’t.” She grabbed a pillow and moved it to the foot of the mattress. “Lay there, on your back.” Dany could not wait until an out-of-place pillow might also mean she wanted him on his stomach, but he wasn’t ready for that yet. _Soon enough, though._

While Jon laid down, Dany got behind Aegon, leaned against his chair with all her weight, and pushed him right up to the edge of the bed with a malicious giddiness that only a trueborn daughter of Aerys II Targaryen could push a man tied to a chair.

“I came to Westeros to restore order,” the Queen told both of them, as she straddled Jon at the legs and ran her hands through the hair on his chest, “and that’s what I mean to do.”

“Please, Your Grace,” Jon sighed.

“We’ve done much good,” Her Grace continued as she licked her palm and slowly stroked Jon’s cock, “but Tyrion buggered up this part, and it’s long past time to fix it.” 

Once Jon was ready, she positioned his cock and slid onto it, letting out a soft moan as it entered her. It felt thicker than usual. Primed and impatient. _Every last drop. Straight into my cunt. I need it. GIVE IT TO ME!_ But she kept the pace agonizingly slow for the both of them.

”There’s a very clear order to my world.” She looked down at Jon and circled her fingers around his nipples, pulling herself up and thrusting her weight down hard, still keeping the slow pace. “ _You_ , are a bastard. A byblow. Your blood is tainted. _You’re my brother’s rape whelp.._.” Her voice and her eyes showed a biting contempt, but she knew Jon could see it for the lust and ecstasy it truly was. The grinding of her hips became more purposeful as she continued. “...An _accident_ , that he got on some Northern _cunt_ because she teased him from the stands at a tourney. _No one_ teases a true Dragon. She made him want it, so he _took_ it.” 

None of this was true, of course, but it was the story about Rhaegar that Jon had grown up with, the one that pained him the most when he learned his place in it, and the one he struggled most to discard from the deepest recesses of his mind. “Your _mother_ has no one to blame for you but her _self_. The best thing you ever did as a son...the _only_ thing you ever did as a son..was _kill_ her when she wretched you from her frozen cunt and spare her the _misery_ of knowing you exist.”

Jon’s eyes flashed, but Dany’s cunt was too warm, too tight, and too wet; her mastery of his body and mind too complete for him to truly grow wroth. All he could do was smack her ass with both hands, and tug at her cheeks. 

Her hand was on his throat before he could enjoy the feeling of her flesh in his grip. “Do _not_ touch me with your _bastard_ hands until I command it.” Jon took his hands off and held them up. She could feel his cock start to pulse more quickly, so she slowed down her thrusting. “You’ll get what you need so desperately,” she assured him as her eyes consumed his. “But I must talk to the boywhore first.”

Dany immediately lifted her gaze to Aegon, who had grown properly terrified at what he’d witnessed. She had never shown him this part of her before, and regretted not doing it sooner.

“You’re even less than that, aren’t you? _You_ come from some cheesemonger and a Lyseni whore whose dream in life was to grow rich fucking cheesemongers.” She leaned closer to him. “Do you know how I grew rich, my dear? I sacked cities. I walked right through their gates, tore out their nobles, root and stem, and took their gold. I brought whole peoples to their knees while you were living on them, letting old men fuck that cunt on your face you call a mouth until it was too used up to pay for.”

Aegon was wordless. He knew it would be foolish to say anything back, though he was unsure what would happen.

“You’re worse than a bastard. You’re _baseborn_. Foreign. You don’t even belong on my continent. You’re lucky you weren’t crushed at the start, just like your mother on the night you were conceived.”

Dany spotted tears forming in his eyes and wanted to lick them off of his face. It made her unwittingly buck her hips faster. She grabbed a fistful of Jon’s hair, but kept her gaze on Aegon. “This one here is at least _half_ a Dragon. This one’s people chose him as their King.”

Aegon must have found some courage somewhere. “Why are you saying these things, Daenerys?”

 _That's the last time you'll ever call me by my given name._ “To show you where you fit in the world as I mean to order it. You may have never loved me, but you loved my cunt, didn’t you?”

The Mummer’s Dragon held his tongue.

“Yes, then. If you didn't, you're fool enough to think it would wound me to hear that. But you're also too weak to lie without your eyes betraying you.”

His eyes betrayed that she was right. She straightened her back and lifted herself just high enough to take Jon’s cock out of her. Jon groaned in a frustration that he should have known by now to restrain. Dany slapped him, but said nothing. _He knows what he did_. She never looked away from Aegon.

“Watch this,” she commanded, shaking Jon’s cock back and forth to draw his eye to it, then sliding back down onto it. “You will never feel this again.” Her cunt grew wetter just from saying the words. Dany enjoyed having more than one mount to choose from, but Aegon was unremarkable, and the power she felt from knowing he was still in her thrall despite being denied what used to be his right was more pleasurable than anything Aegon had ever done to her with his cock.

“This one gets my cunt now. Perhaps others as well in time, but _never_ you. I need this man’s cock. Do you hear me? I tolerated yours. Even enjoyed it sometimes. But this one I _need._ ” Her body began to move on its own, slipping away from the grip of her mind. “He does things to me that your weak little mind can’t even imagine. Things every girl should feel before she calls herself a woman, but that you’ve never taken even me close to.”

Aegon was going pale. “Don’t do this, I can’t do--”

“Bugger what you can’t do. There’s _so much_ you can’t do.” She dismounted just in time to stop the pleasure from overtaking her. “Up,” she commanded her true King.

Jon sat up as Daenerys got down onto her stomach and presented her ass and cunt to him. She propped herself up on her elbows so she could watch Aegon’s face contort itself in such beautiful pain. Jon needed no instruction. He’d been waiting for this moment for days.

Her moan as he entered her cunt sounded like agony, but he wasn’t hurting her. He was consuming her. Giving back what she’d given him all week. _Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. Teach me never to do that again. I won’t learn, but fucking teach me!d_

It was so good that she dropped her head, closed her eyes, and forgot Aegon was there. Only when she threw her whole body back against Jon’s cock did she look up and remember him. She almost decided to ignore him completely, until she felt Jon grip her hair and pull her head back so she locked eyes with him again. _He likes this just as much as I do_.

“This. _This_ is something you can’t do,” she growled, through clenched teeth. Jon slapped her right ass cheek so hard it threw off the rhythm of her breathing. _Yes, put on a show for him, bastard_. “ _That’s_ something you can’t do.” 

Jon wasted no time building his pace. He put the hand that wasn’t gripping her hair onto the small of her back and pulled her onto him, grunting, growling, seething. He fucked her hard, recklessly, with an utter disregard for anything but making certain her cunt remembered who owned it.

Dany mocked a lunge at her husband, and bit the air in front of his face, just to feel her cunt pulse when he flinched. “You know what you _can_ do, boywhore? You can clean up the mess he makes inside me when he's done. He’ll get it all over himself, too. You'll like that part. I might let him have my ass later, so you can tend to that as well. And you can sleep on the floor tonight, in chains, and wash these bedsheets on the morrow.”

Her breathing grew faster, her cunt was hungry, and it seemed Jon may soon leave her with no choice in the matter, but she needed to get the words out. “You can draw our bath water, lay out our clothes, serve us wine.” She was panting, struggling to keep the moans from overtaking her words. “Tonight, tomorrow, and for as long as we desire it. Me, Jon, and our serving girl. If she’s suffered so much, _you’ll_ be the serving girl. You _can_ do those things, can you not? Or would you rather be exposed?”

The terror on Aegon’s face had less to do with her than with his own thoughts. _Of course he likes this_. It seemed so plain to her that he would, and she wondered why she never simply showed him. _Why must men be so ashamed of what they like?_

“Yes. I can do it,” he finally replied. Dany smacked him, testing what he’d learned. “Your Grace! Yes, Your Grace. I can.”

 _He’s quick to learn when you teach him what he truly needs to know_. The grin on her face was the same look Drogon gave when a sheep tried to run from him but could only stand frozen and shit itself. Aegon’s face was the same look the sheep would give. “Don’t be a craven, boy. Give in to this.” The Tyroshi accent of her childhood began to creep back into her voice, and her breathing grew shallower, more rapid. “I know you want to taste the cock that stole my cunt from you forever.” She circled her left index finger around his lips. “I know you want to suck it.” She pushed her finger between his lips, past his teeth, and felt his tongue wrap around it. 

No man had done it before like he did. “The cheesemonger breeds the finest whores, doesn’t he? Yes. Yes--” She gasped, suddenly. Her thoughts and body were no longer her own. Jon had claimed them for himself. The last thing she could do was grip her husband’s face with her thumb and index finger so he could keep sucking. “ _Yes, yes, yes, give me your fucking cock, bastard, gimme gimme gimme, YES!”_

The only sensation left was the ecstasy of his seed bursting into her. Her cunt drank in everything she’d built inside of him over the past week. She felt it coating her. Her cunt pulsed and throbbed, like she meant to pull his cock right off his body and keep it for herself. _Every last drop of it. I want it. I need it. Put a baby in me. Please, gods, let him put his baby in me!_ Mages and prophets could fuck themselves. This man deserved a child, and she would give him one if it killed her.

As soon as Jon released his grip, Dany sprung forward, grabbed Aegon’s face with both hands, and kissed him more passionately than she’d ever done as his wife. She actually _wanted_ him. Not as she’d just had Jon, but in the way she saw fit for him. _He’s in his place. He knows the order_. Aegon kissed back, hungrily, twisting against the ropes. Dany threw an arm behind her back and waved at Jon to come and stand behind Aegon’s chair.

While Jon moved where he’d been told, Dany got on her back, put her ankles on Aegon’s shoulders, and kicked him in the face a few times. It was more playful than angry. Her anger had washed out of her and was drying itself on Jon’s cock. She felt liberated. She no longer had to feign love or desire for him. She could take her pleasure from him in the way she alone preferred.

Jon positioned himself behind Aegon, and Dany squirmed as close to the edge of the bed as she could get. She bit her lower lip, nodding at Jon when she was ready.

Dany leaned back as Jon grabbed Aegon’s hair and used his Eddard Stark chair-pushing magic to tip his head right between her still-dripping thighs. The boy went straight to work. Normally she would have wanted him to start slower and build up to it, but her blood ran too hot to correct him. All she could do was grab the back of his head and push her hips into him.

The Queen sometimes doubted whether she could trust her intuition, but if there was one thing she could always tell for certain, it was whether the person licking her cunt was doing it out of desire, fear, or duty. It was often a mixed bag, especially if said person was tied to furniture or held in place by a fistful of hair. But this was pure, unrestrained desire. Most of the lovemaking she’d done with Aegon had been good, but rote. He made sure she had her pleasure, which she appreciated, but he made no great effort to see how far he could push her. It was a diversion for him, not a passion. But tonight, Aegon worshipped her cunt like he was atoning for all the ways he’d wronged her from the day they met, and honored for even having the chance.

“Lick it out,” she heard Jon say, while her eyes were closed. They snapped open. He was leaning down into the boy’s ear. “Pompous cunt, _lick it_.”

That alone almost sent her over the edge. _Oh, you two will be fast friends._ “Do it! Your King commands it!” She reiterated, looking up into Jon’s eyes. _Yes, let it out. Let ALL of it out. He’s yours next, my love_. “Miss a drop and you’ll sleep right there, just like that,” she hissed at Aegon. “I’ll have a eunuch stand here all night and hold you up by your hair, I swear it.”

Jon grabbed her right foot as it hung in the air over Aegon’s shoulders, planted an adoring kiss on the sole, and took each of her toes into his mouth individually, sliding his tongue between the as he went, as the soft skin of her soles brushed against the stubble on his chin. It made her shudder, and the pleasure came over her like a summer storm. First a tiny drop, then another, then it drenched her. The screams she let out sent two Queensguard bursting through the already half-broken door, but they withdrew as soon as they saw what was happening. No one paid them the slightest bit of attention. _Power suits me_ , was the last thing she remembered thinking before she came down on the other side of her peak.

Her limbs felt heavy and her cunt sore as her mind caught up to her body. But there was work to be done. “On the bed, sweetling,” she ordered Jon, who still had that dour look on his face she loved so much. _Good, he’s not done_. “Lay down.”

Jon hesitated. “Your Grace, do you mean to have him--”

“Yes,” she answered as she rose.

Jon laid down facing the proper way. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

“Are you certain you can’t?” She retrieved a dirk and began to slice at Aegon’s ropes. _The boywhore can. He’s ready to leap out of his chair._

“...No, Your Grace. I just--”

“Hush.” She crawled into bed next to him and knelt near his cock. It was no longer fully hard, but it had another round left, she could tell. Aegon needed no instructions, just permission from Dany’s eyes. He situated himself between the King’s legs, but she put a finger up. _Not yet, serving girl._

The look he gave her almost made her blush. She had seen lust in Aegon’s eyes before, but this was different entirely, though she couldn’t describe how. Had she seen this side of him before, she might have grown to love him. _Look at what you deprived me of, Lord Tyrion. I could have had this for years. Gods, look how HAPPY he is._ She was happier, though. _I set the order in this world_ , she resolved. _No one else. No one._

“Why are men such cravens about this?” She stroked Jon’s cheek, put a hand over his eyes, and guided Aegon’s head down toward Jon’s cock with the other. "His mouth is warm and wet and soft just like mine, or Irri's, or your Wildling's," she explained. "He’s a new pet for you, like you’re mine, that’s all.”

Aegon was growing impatient and fidgety. _Your King learned to wait. You can, too._ She turned back to Jon. “What matter does it make that he's a man? Is there some dark magic to it? Will the Others come back? Will my dragons forsake you? Will Ghost turn on you and rip your throat out? The next time you walk by a weirwood tree, do you think the ghost of Eddard Stark will clout you on the ear, all because some bedslave from Pentos got some spittle on your cock?"  
  
Jon sighed. "No, Your Grace,” he had no choice but to admit.

“Of course not. Boywhore,” she commanded, again turning to Aegon, “lick. Slowly.” Dany took her hand off of Jon’s eyes. They were closed, but not tightly. She stroked his hair and watched Aegon’s tongue slide up the shaft of Jon’s cock. She mocked a gasp. “Look at that! Your cock’s getting hard!” _And the harder your cock, the deeper inside you I get_.

Jon groaned softly. Dany sensed he meant to acknowledge she was right. _I told you._ She stroked Aegon’s hair as well. “He’s just afraid of it, darling. Suck the head. He’ll be too weak for fear. He’s your better and he always will be, and if he gets even a whiff of insolence from you, he’ll put you right back in your place.” _While I watch, with a dripping cunt._ “And if he doesn’t, I will. But he’s easy, you’ll see.”

Jon gripped the sheets in a sad attempt to stop his back from arching and his hands from reaching for Aegon’s head. Dany laughed sweetly. “Why are boys so delicate, Jon Snow? How many battles have you fought? A hundred? Against men who were already dead?” She moved her hand to his throat, and pressed. His eyes opened right into hers, and froze. “And you can’t lay here and get your cock sucked because Tormund Fucking Giantsbane might mock you if you told him who sucked it?” She smacked him. “He’s fucked animals! This one at least walks on two legs.”

She was met with silence. Aegon had found too many things to do with his tongue while she was soothing her precious, fragile pet. “Would you like a distraction? Would that make you less afraid?”

Jon nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.” 

Dany straddled his face, stroked his hair and looked down into his eyes. “The only thing you should fear is displeasing me, sweetling.” She tightened her grip on his hair. “Remember that. Boywhore!” She shouted, without looking back. “Finish him, while I set his world back to order.”

Before they rode for King's Landing the next morning, Dany summoned Tyrion and Sam. Bronn joined, because Bronn always knew where the free wine was. Dany and Jon had the Unsullied take the new serving girl away before they arrived. It was best not to give Tyrion too many things to opine on at once.

"What next?" she asked as they sat. Tyrion poured himself some wine, as Bronn lifted his cup expectantly.  
  
"The annulment, of course, and a trial,” Sam began as Tyrion poured for his sellsword. 

“A quick one. Do not let them mount a true defense.” Tyrion jumped in. “Heads, spikes, walls; Braavos, dragons, dust; then ride for Winterfell and kiss every Northern ass you can find. Grey Worm should prepare to starve Littlefinger out of the Eyrie, as well. Say what you will about the man, he’s persistent."

“No need.” The Dragon Queen’s tone was certain. She toyed with her crown on the table, spinning it between her fingers. “The first day of each new moon’s turn, half the petty lords in the Vale send chests of gold to the other half. Henceforth, until they hear otherwise, the mountain clansmen are to ambush and pillage every baggage train they can find. We will arm and armor them. They can keep it all, to do with as they please. Get word to your savage friend, Shagga Son of Shagga--”

Bronn took a bite of an apple. “Dolf,” he interjected, with his mouth full. “Shagga Son of Dolf.” He paused to swallow. “You’re thinking of Timett Son of Timett. But bugger them, can I be in charge of this? You said I’d be rewarded handsomely for getting our favorite drunk back, but all I’ve gotten so far is a look at your husband’s lacquered up shit pipe.”

Dany suppressed a disgusted smile. “No. That drunk once told me that power resides in a bank vault in Braavos. So does your coin. You’ll have it as soon as I blow the door off and take it. I’ve never cheated you before, and I won’t now. I have wars to fight.” She turned back to Tyrion. “Make this happen.”

“At once, Your Grace. And that’s a fine start, but--”

“When I return from Braavos, we will lose some battles and sue for peace. I'll wed Jon, he will renounce his claim to the North, and Littlefinger will wed Arya and renounce his claim to the rest.” _He’ll love the next bit_. “The pact will be sealed at the Twins, where we will murder him at his own wedding.” _Yes, I know_. Dany smiled wryly.

Tyrion laughed, incredulous. “Why, Father, I love what you’ve done with your hair!”

“Thank you, it’s in the fashion of wherever whores go,” she deadpanned, in the tone she imagined Lord Tywin would speak. 

Tyrion was annoyed that he found that funny. “I can’t say it’s never worked before, Your Grace, but do you truly think Littlefinger is fool enough to trust an invitation to wed at the Twins, of all places? And the North remembers Robb Stark vividly. This will not win you any friends there.”

“I'll manage. Be patient.” She put one finger up to cut off his next volley. “Lastly, I want the finest jewelers in King’s Landing at a private audience once Braavos is done. I need two new crowns.”

Tyrion sighed, exasperated. _I make this poor man’s life so difficult_. She smiled to herself. “Your Grace...the second crown. It’s for--”

Dany cut him off again. “It is known.”

Tyrion swallowed whatever he’d first planned to say, followed by the rest of his wine. “And how do you plan on doing this?”

“By standing before some people, saying some words, and putting a dragon cloak around her. What would you suggest?”

Tyrion stayed silent.

“Sam, find me something in the law to justify it. If you found a right to unlimited buggery in the Night’s Watch vows, you can do this.”

“As you say, Your Grace.”

Tyrion jumped in again. “The High Septon will never--”

“What High Septon?” Dany quipped.

Bronn laughed aloud. Tyion’s face was stone, but his eyes begged her not to do whatever it was she planned.

“And who, are you, the proud lord said,” Bronn sang, “that I must bow so low?” 

Dany rose from her chair and put her palms on the table, her eyes demanding Bronn turn his to meet her. “You know who I am.” His mocking grin vanished. Dany donned her crown and exited, leaving no more room for words.

When she returned to King’s Landing, Goldcloaks raided the docs and rounded up one merchant from each of the Free Cities. Jon, with the three fastest ships in the Royal Fleet and a seasoned Ironborn crew, sailed on the evening tide for the Braavosi coast. Their holds were empty, save for the captive merchants.

Rather than place him in the cells, Dany had Aegon confined to the Maidenvault. It was important to put on a grand show of being merciful while he awaited his fate, and to give herself time to move the other _cyvasse_ pieces into place. It also simply amused her. 

Irri was eager to make up for the time they’d been apart. It was passionate, to be certain, but Dany had done enough conquest with Aegon, so it was sweeter and gentler than it might have been.

“Would you like a boy to serve us wine on nights like this?” Dany asked in Dothraki, while the girl lay on her chest. Irri knew the Common Tongue well, but she was always so shy and deferential when she spoke it, as if she only felt comfortable speaking it like a servant. That had its uses, but Dany wanted her true thoughts now.

“Jon? I'd love it, but I'd want his cock in me after the first sip.”

“Well, yes, but not just now. I mean always. Like you do for me. And when he's not serving wine he's washing the linens, drawing our baths…”

“If Jon is King, he won’t have time to wash anyone’s linens.”

“ _When_ Jon is King, my slut husband will need something to occupy his time.”

Irri looked at her like she’d gone mad. “I love you dearly, _Khaleesi_ , but sometimes your cunt dreams up these fantastical ideas and clouds your mind with them.”

 _I’m no ordinary woman. My cunt’s dreams come true._ “He’ll do it.”

“Will you force him at the point of an _arakh_? If that’s so, I refuse to be a part of it.” She was angry, and hurt that Dany would suggest such a thing to her after what she’d been through.

“No, no, sweetling,” she stroked the girl’s cheek reassuringly. “There will be no _arakh_. He’s already agreed to it. It pleases him. I’ve seen it with mine own eyes.”

“He’s pompous, _Khaleesi_. Willful.”

“At times, yes. But we shall teach him humility.”

“Does Jon know of this?” Irri’s eyes narrowed. 

“Oh, he knows.” Dany smiled mischievously. The girl’s narrowed eyes went from skepticism to jealousy. “I didn’t mean to keep him from you, sweetling. I didn’t want to put you in danger on that trip. You will have your share of him, I promise it.”

“Why is he in the Maidenvault, then? Why isn’t he here now?”

“First, the marriage must be annulled. Second, I must marry Jon. Third, I must make a new crown. And fourth, I must marry you,” she smiled, “and place it on your sweet little head.”

Irri paused, struggling to grasp what she’d heard. “ _Khaleesi_ , do you misspeak?”

Dany answered in the Common Tongue. “No. I will marry Jon to keep the Realm happy, and as soon as it’s done, I mean to take you to wife as well, and crown you Queen Consort. That is, of course, _if_ you would have me as your wife.”

Irri sat up.

"I'll give you Summerhall,” Dany declared, as if it were some trifle. “You and Jon will both be mine. You'll reign by my side, and help me rule if you wish. Believe me, sweetling, it’s a beautiful thing to see you on your knees, wringing out my smallclothes. But you mean so much more than that to me.”

“Forgive me, _Khaleesi_ , but have you lost your wits?”

Dany simply laughed. “You could sit on my Small Council. You can help the Dothraki become one with my people. Speak for them, help nobles and smallfolk alike come to respect them.”

“But I haven’t the faintest notion of how to do any of that!”

“You've been watching me all your life, my dear. Do you think I had the faintest notion of what to do when Drogo fell ill? You can learn, just as I did. Or, you can spend your days gossiping with Jhiqui and Missandei, if that’s your preference. I don't care. But _hiding_ this is what drove me to the madness that almost cost me your love forever. I’m through with it.”

“How is this even possible, _Khaleesi_?”

“Why wouldn’t it be? My forebears did it. Aegon the Conqueror came to this land with two wives. After all I’ve done, I can’t have a wife and a husband?”

Irri was still stunned. “...A _crown._ ”

“A crown, all your own.” Dany’s hand grazed her sweet slut’s cheek. “Why do I sit in that fancy chair if other people can still tell me whom I’m allowed to love? Power is not tying you up and beating you. That’s playing at power. I love it, but if it means hiding you from the world like some dark shame, it’s no longer enough. _Power_ is standing before every high lord in the Realm, every man who claims to speak for the gods, arm in arm with you and Jon, and daring them all to challenge us. It’s declaring through that act alone, without apology, that the order of the world is now such that a man whose gods forbid him from being happy in love should find different gods.” 

“You are my god, _Khaleesi_. You have been since your dragons hatched.”

Dany nodded knowingly. “You came to me a slave. I mean for you to die a slave.” She put her finger in the girl’s mouth and watched her close her eyes and suck. With her other hand, she reached down and found her sweet, wet cunt. “ _My_ slave. But in my world, the Queen’s slave is a Queen in her own right, and she will be treated as such.”

Irri opened her eyes, and they locked with hers for a moment. Dany slid her finger out of her mouth. Before either of them could say anything, their lips were pressed against each other. Irri slid up, rolled on top of Dany, and shuddered as Dany smacked her ass with both hands and gripped her cheeks tightly. Irri moaned and began to grind her cunt against Dany’s, looking down into her eyes with a determination that Dany had only witnessed in her when she was steeling herself through torment.

“Come here,” Dany beckoned, sliding down and pulling her royal slut’s cunt up to her face. “Be the Queen tonight.”

For the next week, Dany and Irri confined themselves to their own Maidenvault, of sorts. But that was over soon enough, when Grey Worm brought word during one of her afternoon teas. “The ships await Your Grace off Braavos.”

“Thank you. Send a raven to Dragonstone. Command that they ready their largest barrel. _Now_.”

“This one is pleased to obey, Your Grace.” Irri needed no instruction, and immediately set to preparing the Queen’s armor.

With the best of intentions, Grey Worm assembled every company of freedmen in the city in the outer bailey of the Red Keep. Slaves who had been with her since Astapor, Unsullied, pit fighters, Dothraki she’d freed after uniting them all into one people, Volantene sailors, Euron Greyjoy’s “thralls,” and “household servants” from Pentos. Dany’s speech was one of the best she’d ever given, but while the men roared for her to show Braavos what happens to slavers in Daenerys Targaryen’s world, Daenerys Targaryen herself took little comfort. _‘Three fires you must light,’_ the Undying told her, yet she’d long ago lost count of how many wasted fields and charred corpses bore her mark. _When is this finished?_

She wondered if this was even worth it, or whether the millions of people she’d freed would fall right back into their shackles the moment she drew her last breath. _I must not think about it_ , she insisted, for fear of going mad if she did. Instead, she mounted Drogon, closed her eyes, and flew.

It was near the hour of the wolf as Dany approached Braavos, flying just under the clouds so she could spot the lights of the city. She finally found them, behind a thick veil of fog. She pressed her heels into Drogon's side and pulled back on his reins. The beast labored to climb, grunting and puffing smoke from his nostrils as the ground disappeared beneath them. She could feel the cold moisture of the cloud on her face, and tiny ice crystals forming on her eyelashes.  
  
Breaking through the clouds never ceased to amaze Dany. The world was flat and silent, the moonlight reflecting off the cloud tops. She was tempted to turn back; to drop the wildfire into the sea and never speak of it again. To find some way to live up here and escape the swamp of mankind that she had saved but could not control.  
  
But she couldn't do that, she knew. Before her mind could keep debating itself, Dany felt Drogon lurch upward and roar in relief. _It is done_. Her child began to soar in a lazy circle. For what seemed an eternity, nothing happened. The world was just as quiet as it had been a moment ago. _Did we miss? Did they not fill the barrel? Or is there naught to see?_ No one had seen a city burn from above the clouds, so she wasn't certain what to look for.

Suddenly, one part of the clouds was brighter, greener than the others. It flickered for a moment, like lightning in a storm, then grew. The green spread out into a wider circle and the center grew white. _Still silent_ , she noticed, before a deafening crack knocked Drogon off balance. He shook and struggled, and for a moment Dany was certain she would fall to her death. But he recovered, and Dany watched as the green circle stopped its outward sprawl. From the white mass in the center came a plume of dust, colored like mud in the moonlight. It started as a straight column but spread into a circle of its own.  
  
It occurred to her that this ugly plume, spoiling her otherwise perfect night sky, used to be a city. Palaces, hovels, brothels, markets, harbors, and shrines. The bank that thought it could take what was hers. The army it was massing to take it. The manses and merchant houses where men plotted against her. 

 _The dust is human beings as well_. That was less satisfying. Some of them needed to die, but did their wives and children? Some of them were men who abhorred slavery just as much as she did, and some were foreign traders, mummers, whores, priests, and smallfolk who had naught to do with any of this. Some of them were even slaves themselves, most like praying for the Dragon Queen to rescue them. _I rescued them from a life of suffering_. She had to tell herself something.

 _How many did the Others kill? Millions, at least._ But after all the wars she’d fought, she still might have killed more. _How many Wildlings over eight thousand years?_ That must have put their tally above hers, surely. _But how many would I kill if I had eight thousand years to do it?_  
  
Before long, the plume stopped rising and the smoke dispersed and blended into the rest of the sky, tinging the clouds brown. She could still see flashes of green below, but they were growing duller. _I must see_. She leaned forward, and Drogon swept his wings back into a dive.  
  
When the surface finally appeared through the fog, even Drogon stopped in his tracks, flapping himself into a startled hover while he puzzled at what he saw. If Dany could fly on her own, she would have done the same. Boulders were scattered where the city once stood, like a child had dropped a handful of pebbles. Only a few piles looked like they might have once been buildings.

The most grotesque sight was the Titan. It still stood, but the heat from the blast had melted it into a deformed mass. The lump on top that used to be its head still glowed a faint orange, and the whole thing bent forward and leaned to one side on a partially melted leg. She could hear the screams of men still trapped inside.

Dany urged Drogon in the direction of the Sealord's palace. It had fared better than most; at least part of a wall still stood, though its menagerie and glass gardens were still ablaze. _The house with the red door_. It was gone forever. _The house with the red door put me on the streets, alone with Viserys, as soon as we ran out of coin._ She turned away and did not look back, though the view before her was clouded with tears.  
  
She put down near where she estimated the Iron Bank once stood. As she dismounted, she drew her _arakh_ , but was met only with eerie quiet. _There are not even corpses_. The waves of the lagoon lapped against the rubble, and fires raged in the distance, but those were the only sounds. Braavos had been a canyon of buildings, but tonight, it looked like the rocky swamp it was when men first discovered it. She wondered if this is what caused the Doom of Valyria--some woman, incapable of leaving things be.

 _The vault is still there_. That was the important part. It sat in a hole in the ground, with steps leading down to it. The door was still intact, but the hinges were loose, and it could be removed easily enough. _‘Power resides…,’_ she heard Lord Tyrion say. _And now it’s mine alone_. But she was too exhausted to relish it. All she wanted was to sleep.

She sat against a rock, exhausted, her guilt and terror melting into a numbness, which itself melted into something else. _Relief_ , it finally came to her. There will be no war with Braavos. No siege of King's Landing. No war galleys pouring out of the Arsenal and into Blackwater Bay. No tens of thousands of men at Littlefinger’s back. She leaned her head back and exhaled. For the first time since she watched Viserys die, Dany felt a looseness in her shoulders.

Her peace was interrupted by the sound of oars, and gruff voices barking orders. Two longships beached themselves on either side of her, Ironmen leaping from their decks and forming up, awaiting their captains. _Queens can’t slouch on the ground or they look weak_ , she assumed. She rose, though she made no effort to be quick about it. _Queens can’t rise too quickly or it looks like they fear looking weak._ It bothered her that these thoughts still came to her.

After the soldiers came the captive traders from the other Free Cities, shackled, dragged toward her by a handful of soldiers carrying torches. Dany could see in the light that a few had pissed themselves. One of them still was, after Drogon made eye contact with him. When they reached her, one of the Ironborn kicked his captive in the back of the knee and planted him at her feet. "Kneel for the fucking Queen!" The rest followed suit, most crying, all purged of defiance.

Dany closed her eyes. _How many times must I give these speeches before the world learns?_ She paused, mustering the strength to address them as Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons, and not Dany, the madwoman who needed a nap. "Tell your masters what you saw,” she began, in High Valyrian. “Tell them to strike the shackles off every slave or their cities shall meet the same fate. I promise it.” She spied Jon making his way toward her with her ships’ captains. _Please tell me I’m still a good person_ , her eyes pleaded, but his did not yet know what to say. 

“Launch ships against me and I’ll turn them to driftwood on the open sea,” she resumed. “Dredge up some claimant to the Iron Throne and he will die screaming, as will you and everyone you've ever loved. Your flesh will melt away, your entrails will burn, and your bones will turn to dust and scatter in the wind. You will be gone and forgotten in a heartbeat, but I will endure long, _long_ after. Do you understand?"

They pledged obedience in their native tongues, all garbled together.

"Get them back in the boats, open the vault, and take the gold," she ordered the captains. As they turned, she grabbed Jon's arm. "You, stay."

For a moment, they stood in silence. “ _Tell me I’m not my father_ ,” she commanded in a whisper, once the captains were out of earshot.

“You take after him in some ways, that’s plain.” They walked, looking for somewhere they could be alone. “But all he cared about was clinging to power. You have no need to cling, Daenerys. Your burden is to use it wisely.”

“Was this wise, or am I a monster?” They stopped behind something that used to be a wall.

Jon gave it some thought. “It depends. The monster in you has brought the world to its knees, as it's wont to do, but that’s the easy part. If the old order of things did not suit you, men will look to the Queen in you for the new one. They know what _not_ to do, that's clear enough, now what would you have them do instead? You must _think_ , truly, and answer them.”

“Will this monster always be inside me?”

“Aye. But I fell in love with it, and I don’t regret it. Make the world feel the same.”

Dany looked around to be certain the men were gone. “Kneel.”

Jon dropped to his knees, more slowly than usual, and with narrow, steely eyes.

“Can I hit you? Will you still allow me?”

“Yes, but know that it tells me more about you than I think you realize. I know when you’re wroth with me, or with yourself, or something else. I know when it’s playful, or loving, or when you feel sad or afraid. And how you feel right now tells me who you truly are.”

It had never occurred to Dany that such a thing was possible. _I don't know how I feel._ She thought about how a decent woman would slap the man she loves in the face. _Just get on with it. He’ll know if you try too hard._ She cocked her hand back and slapped him, hoping it told him the right things.

Jon winced, recovered, and looked up at her. He was silent for a moment, his eyes giving nothing away.

 _Please, sweetling, let that be enough for you._ “Please?” The wall between her and his true thoughts was too much to bear. Wordlessly, Jon bent toward the ground, and gave a soft kiss to the top of each of her boots.

Dany sighed in relief. “Rise.” Her voice was shaking.

Jon rose, took her face in his hands, kissed her, and held her in a long, tight, silent embrace. On another night, that may have earned him a beating for touching her without permission. But he had permission, and he knew it. The words made no matter. He still thought she was worth kneeling to. The rest--all of it--meant nothing without that.


	7. Jon II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "As the sun was coming up, she used her mouth to make him hard again, as Doreah had taught her long ago, then rode him so wildly that his wound began to bleed again, and for one sweet heartbeat she could not tell whether he was inside of her, or her inside of him."
> 
> \-- _A Dance With Dragons_ , Daenerys VII

“Are the men ready?” Jon asked Davos as the Hand joined him at the head of the column. Jon wondered if this was how Roose Bolton had felt, as he marched his Northmen up the Green Fork toward the Twins.

“Not in the least, but it seems that's how your bride likes them,” Davos replied. Jon laughed nervously.

This whole plan was a fool’s errand, as he saw it. In truth, he didn’t fully understand what the plan even was. No one did. All he knew was that he doubted they could rescue Arya and make it out alive without violating guest right in the castle that had been the scene of its most heinous violation in living memory.

The scheme, as Dany told it, was to purposely lose a series of battles to Littlefinger and create the appearance that she had no choice but to surrender the Twins and sue for peace. At the Twins, Dany would negotiate a treaty under which she and Jon would wed, Jon would name Arya his heir, and renounce all his claims and titles. That would make Littlefinger the new King in the North, holding the Vale, and all the land from the Twins to the Wall. In return, Littlefinger would marry Arya and renounce his claim to the rest of Westeros.

They would void the treaty by inciting a revolt among Littlefinger’s bannermen in the middle of his wedding. She would not command them to turn on him, but merely use the promise of a large sum of gold fresh from the ruins of Braavos in exchange for Littlefinger’s head as the spark for the kindling. Ideally, some lordling would do it on his own accord, but at minimum, Dany hoped that at some point during the ensuing argument over what to do, someone would show steel. Guest right would no longer apply, everything would go to shit, and they would somehow kill Littlefinger and get themselves and Arya to safety.

Jon’s only problem with her plan was that it was a shit plan, and everyone who had heard it agreed. Daenerys had an undeniable talent for persuading people to forsake everything they held dear on a moment’s notice for her, but Jon feared that this pushed the limit of even her abilities. _She’s not from here. She doesn’t understand how important guest right is here_ , he worried. These men were not slaves chained up on a ship. They were nobles from the Vale, who prided themselves on holding fast to ancient customs despite even the strongest temptations to break them. If anything went even slightly awry, they would have no choice but to murder Littlefinger under his own roof, and vile as he may be, Dany's treachery would destroy her chances of winning the North’s fealty.

Dany was utterly deaf to that argument. She could be talked out of bad ideas for good reasons, but the smartest decision Dany ever made in her life was to walk into a raging fire and plant her ass on the ground for the night, and her second smartest was cheating Astapor out of an army. Risk and treachery were seldom good enough reasons for her.

 _Maybe she’ll light everything on fire and stand there with her teats out again._ He’d never witnessed it firsthand, but he’d heard good things. She only did it as a last resort, she explained to him once, but he suspected that her other options would run out quickly.

Whether the “spark” would light or not, Tyrion had done an admirable job with the kindling. His mountain clansmen were wreaking havoc on every wayn that passed through the Vale. Gold was being sucked off the mountain roads and disappearing into caves and narrow passes impenetrable by any armored column. The clansmen suffered their own losses, of course, but there were too many of them, in too many places, at too many hours of the day, with too much well-made steel for the Knights of the Vale to mount a true defense.

Lords who had lent money to each other were not being repaid, and Littlefinger was increasingly hard-pressed to fulfill the guarantees he’d made. His bannermen had not let this go unnoticed and were tiring of partial payments, promises, and excuses.

 _Trust and obey_ , the voice inside him reminded. _Serve her, worship her, and she will keep you safe_. Of late, it was hard to tell whose voice it was, and whether it spoke out of happenstance or when she meant it to. Regardless, it was of her doing, so he listened.

Suddenly, the voice moved from inside his mind to outside his left ear, as Dany trotted up beside him. “You seem anxious, my love.”

“I always get this way,” he lied. Dany looked unconvinced but indifferent.

“Out of the way.” She shooed him off to his right, as Irri came up behind them. Jon and Irri rode next to each other, and Dany rode in front of both. Irri looked at Jon fearfully. _Even she thinks this is madness_.

But if Irri was riding to her death, she at least looked beautiful doing it. Dany had made a point of bedecking her in the finest everything, to flaunt her in Baelish’s face and remind him of his failure to use their love to divide the Realm. Irri wore a gold breastplate inlaid with onyx to match her eyes, in the shape of the two rearing stallions of the Horse Gate at Vaes Dothrak. Her riding pants were made of the finest leather--so fine that it was almost silly to ride in them--as were her boots, which she had not even donned until she was already on the horse, to avoid muddying them.

Jon knew that because he was the one who slid them onto her feet, at Dany’s command. When he finished the second one, he gave it a soft kiss just below the brim, looked up at her, and caressed her leg. _Below the knee--always below the knee unless I beg her leave_ , he remembered thinking. She smiled down at him, said something in Dothraki he did not understand save for the word for “bastard,” tugged his hair just to see him wince, then playfully smacked his head and rode off. It left him blushing and grinning like a maid. For a girl who had been content to spend her life as a cupbearer, Irri was fast growing into the Queen that Dany meant to make her.

He felt his breeches tightening, so he looked back at Davos, who had fallen back respectfully when Daenerys arrived, and waved him forward.

“Do you have a plan if, gods forbid…?” He asked his Hand quietly. _Do you have a plan other than walking into a castle and getting murdered_ , he meant.

“Aye, but you won’t like it until it’s done.”

 _Makes no matter now_. “Do as you see fit, and I’ll be sure to scold you about it later.”

Jon stayed silent for the rest of the ride, and barely spoke as they entered the great hall, where the talks were to take place. _And where Robb was stabbed in the gut_ , he could not help but remember. With him were Dany, Irri, Tyrion, Davos, and Sam. The Lord of the Vale entered with Arya, Cortnay Penrose, and an absurd number of guards.

Dany had never met Arya in person before, and seemed underwhelmed, though she had more sense than to say anything. Naturally, Littlefinger sat Arya directly across the table from Jon. _He’s doing this to toy with your mind_ , he reminded himself, urgently. _Think of Rickon_. It stopped him from flipping the table on its side and driving Longclaw straight through Baelish’s chest, but it couldn’t stop him from opening his mouth.

“Has he touched you?” Jon growled at Arya. _I love you, Dany, but if this frustrates you, stop bringing me to these pissing contests._

“No.” Arya shook her head, but kept her eyes on Jon, letting him probe all he wanted. “He’s treated me well.” As hard as he tried, he found no hint of a lie.

“I’m glad,” he grumbled. _Fine, then, get on with the pissing_.

“Do you fear me, Lord Baelish?” Dany led off, looking around at his guardsmen.

“After what’s happened on the battlefield, you’ve given me little cause to fear, I fear.” He smirked, so proud of himself. “I simply don’t trust you.”

Tyrion had been drunk for hours and was well full of piss. “Of course you trust her, my lord. She’s been telling you since she got off the boat from Meereen that all she wants from life is to murder you with her dainty little hands, and you clearly think she could. Please kindly dispense with the mummer’s act about who trusts whom. We’re bored of it.”

“Your Hand has quite a mouth,” Littlefinger addressed Dany.

“Would that your hand had Sansa Stark’s mouth,” Tyrion shot back.

“He'd never leave the Eyrie,” Dany grinned at Littlefinger derisively.

“I don't take other men's leavings,” Baelish countered.

“The way some tell it, the leavings wouldn't take you.” Dany was serenely calm, refusing to let Littlefinger see her angry.

“That must be quite a story. I’ve heard some fascinating tales about you as well.” His eyes went across the table to every man in her party, but lingered on Jon last.

Jon leaned in. “Guard your--”

“Enough!” Davos pounded the table, rescuing Jon from himself. “Are we here to bicker or to seal a peace?!” That shamed the room full of nobles into silence.

Jon lost track of how many hours it took, but the peace they finally agreed upon was almost precisely what Dany wanted. It was an exceedingly good deal for Littlefinger, and Davos and Tyrion did a fine job convincing him that they were loath to give it to him. _Perhaps she does know what she’s doing_.

The wedding ceremonies were set for the next day, at the midpoint of the bridge across the Green Fork. To guard against surprises, Littlefinger demanded that each couple to be wed come alone, save for two guardsmen. Their respective armies would stand at either end of the bridge, ensuring that any attempt at treachery would assure mutual bloodshed. Dany gladly agreed.

When all was said and done, Jon, Dany, Arya, and Littlefinger all signed. Dany and Jon’s contingent rose from the table, quite pleased with their defeat.

“My lord,” Davos pleaded with Littlefinger as he was about to leave, “I know it would please Jon very much if he could have a word with Arya alone. They were raised as brother and sister, and love each other dearly. Please, as a gesture of good faith, give them that courtesy.”

Littlefinger was no fool. “Anything he would say, he can say in front of all of us, my lord.”

“I thank you, my lord.” Davos cautiously moved to the other side of the table, put his arm gently around Arya’s waist, and escorted her over to Jon. They hugged tightly. Jon kissed her on the forehead, and mussed her hair one last time. He held her shoulders, keeping a respectful distance to show he meant no surprises. Littlefinger watched him like a hawk regardless.

“Whatever happens, you can always come to me. I will give my life for you if need be.” Tears were filling his eyes. “Be a good wife. It pains me to say that, but do it. You and Sansa are the last of Lord Eddard’s children, and you must carry on his memory. Do what he would do.”

Arya sniffled, nodded, hugged Jon again, and went with Littlefinger.

Dany’s party spent the evening in the castle at the southern bank of the river, while Littlefinger confined himself to the northern end. There were guards everywhere, though. More than enough to slaughter all of them. For what seemed like all night, they sat around the table, nervously awaiting the return of the scout Dany had sent to sow tension among Littlefinger’s bannermen.

“Your scout’s back. Some of him, anyway,” Bronn announced as he entered Dany’s chambers and placed the head on her table. Despite the quip, even the sellsword looked utterly beaten. She and Tyrion grimaced. Jon was too numb to move. _What did I tell you, Daenerys?! What now?!_ “Lovely note from Nestor Royce, too,” Bronn continued. “He’ll keep quiet about the treachery so you’ll still have guest right, but scratch your ass the wrong way and he’ll go straight to Littlefinger.”

“How generous,” Dany sighed.

“I’ll kill him myself on the morrow, and deal with my bannermen later.” Jon declared.

“Your Grace, please--” Tyrion pleaded.

 _Is that all he knows how to say?_ “Enough! We tried her shit plan, now we’ll try my shit plan.”

 _That’s a beating_ , Jon realized as soon as he said it. But Dany stayed silent, barely even looking in his direction. Jon knew that Dany had two kinds of silences in cases like this. One was when she was so supremely confident in her plan that she felt it would be wrong to deprive her men of the opportunity to witness its brilliance unspoiled, and the other was when she was genuinely afraid and didn’t want to admit it. This was the latter.

“New _shit plan_ ,” Dany finally announced, eyeing Jon angrily. “We’ll fabricate some commotion between the Dothraki and the Northmen in the middle of the ceremony. While they’re distracted, we’ll grab Arya and run toward our side of the bridge. The Northmen will flee to Littlefinger’s side, and some Valeman will loose an arrow in fear. That will forfeit guest right, and Bronn and Tormund can dispatch with Littlefinger.”

 _Aye, still shit_. Jon was about to say as much, but Tyrion got to it first.

“Your Grace, you can’t--that’s—“

“Stupid.” Bronn finished.

The anger flashed in Daenerys Stormborn’s eyes and boomed in her voice like lightning and thunder. “Do any of you have a better idea?!” She pounded the table and pointed at Jon. “ _Your_ plan violates the guest right you’ve been lecturing me about since we left. And the rest of you have sat here like mutes, save for Bronn, who I should _make_ a mute for what he said, and Tyrion, who yet again counseled me so helpfully on what _not_ to do.” The room fell silent. “You all have until dawn to suggest something better. Elsewise, we do it my way or you can leave my service.”

And that was that.

There were no beatings that night, but there was no lovemaking, either. Dany was in no mood. When their men were gone, she commanded Jon and Irri to get in bed, and snuffed out each candle in the bedchamber herself, holding her palm over each flame long enough to make them both wince at the pain she didn’t feel.

Jon would have found the next day’s mummer’s farce of a wedding between Arya Stark and Petyr Baelish, officiated by Daenerys Targaryen, much more amusing were actually a farce.

“In the light of the Seven, and by the laws of gods and men, I, Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen…”

 _This can’t be happening_ , Jon insisted to himself, as Dany rattled off her titles. Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen spoke for the Seven like Jon spoke for the Stone Cow of Faros, but all the septons in the Riverlands were dead, drunk, or in hiding with Lancel Lannister and the last vestiges of the Sparrows, making Dany the closest thing to a holy man within a fortnight’s ride of the Twins. Jon stood next to Arya, scowling. Bronn and Tormund stood behind him, opposite Littlefinger and his own guards.

“…declare Lord Petyr of the House Baelish,” Dany went on, speaking slowly to drag things out as long as she could, “Lord Paramount of the Vale and the Trident, and Lady Arya of the House Stark, daughter of Lord Eddard and sister of Lady Sansa of Winterfell, to be one heart, one flesh, one soul, now and forever…”

Jon’s stomach twisted into a knot. This “some commotion” Dany insisted upon never came to pass, and she could only speak so slowly before it was obvious she was waiting for something to happen.

“…and cursed be he who comes between them,” she concluded, glumly. And as far as the gods were concerned, it was done.

Lord Baelish had barely finished fastening his cloak around Arya when a dagger dropped from her sleeve into her hand.

“For Lord Eddard!” Arya shouted, and thrust it straight into the center of his windpipe.

 _That will serve_. The blood gushed and spattered from Littlefinger’s wound as he tried futilely to cover it with his hands, collapsing onto his knees.

Bronn let out a “Pff.”

“That was good,” Tormund concurred.

Littlefinger’s guards moved to pull Arya away from him, but she wrenched her arm back and got the one closest to her right in the gap between his breastplate and breeches. Dany had the wherewithal to trip the other one, knocking him off balance for long enough to allow Bronn and Tormund to overpower them both.

Arya straddled Littlefinger and resumed where she left off. “And Lady Catelyn!” _This may go on a bit_. “And King Robb! And Lady Sansa!” It was a dull knife, and she stirred it around inside Baelish’s throat like a child playing with a stick in the dirt. “And Bran! And Rickon! And Lady Lysa! And the Eyrie! And Winterfell!”

With that, Arya stuck the knife in his belly button and dragged it up until she hit bone, ripping his stomach open like a sack of flour. That unnerved even Jon. He grabbed her and pulled her away, slapping an intestine out of her hand as she kicked and scratched. “He’s dead. He’s dead.” Jon kissed her on the cheek and stroked her hair to calm her down. “He’s dead. It’s done.”

No one was ready for any of this. The Northmen all drew their swords. “For Winterfell!” Shouted some fool from the back of the Northern ranks, trying to ignite a charge. _Brilliant._

Jon was still holding Arya tightly. She was far from done. He dragged her along as he turned and stepped toward his army, his hand away from his sword, but ready to draw it if necessary. “Stand down!” He ordered.

Davos kicked his horse forward a few steps and turned it sideways to block the column. He shouted something that Jon could not hear, but it seemed to blunt their momentum. A line of Unsullied formed a shield wall across the width of the bridge, between Davos and the rest of the men. _Thank the gods._

Jon turned and saw Dany slide her _arakh_ through what was left of Littlefinger’s neck and remove the head. As soon as it was off, she ran to the middle of the road, held it up with her right hand, and tossed her _arakh_ to the ground with her left. She stood, turning around slowly with both hands away from her body, so both armies could see she was unarmed.

She walked slowly but deliberately toward the Valemen. “Lord Nestor! Dip your banners!”

Royce put a hand out to stop his men from dipping anything. He unsheathed his sword, and the men at the front of his column followed suit. _She can’t die this way. I won’t allow it._ But Dany kept walking.

Arya broke away and ran toward Dany, dropping her dagger along the way. “ _No!_ This was my doing!” She sprinted ahead of Dany. “They knew nothing of this, I swear it! On my aunt Lady Lysa’s honor, I _swear_ it!” Royce and his men sheathed their swords cautiously. He dismounted, motioned for his men to stay still, and walked toward them with his hand still on his sword hilt.

Jon strode briskly toward the three of them, his own hand on Longclaw. Those women were the only two people in the world who would love him no matter whose cunt he dropped out of, or who’d put him there in the first place. _Kill either, and I WILL die avenging them_. There would be no one left to stop him. His eyes must have gotten his message across to Lord Royce, who again took his hand off his sword and nodded grudgingly.

Royce looked down, towering over Dany. “Treachery like this may serve in Astapor, but here, we--”

Arya knew what he meant to say. “ _I_ did this. I told you. And I wasn’t his guest. I was his wife. He cloaked me.”

“Then that makes you a kinslayer, my lady.”

“Aye, and what do you mean to do about it?” Royce had no answer. _I missed Arya_.

“There’s gold on my side of the bridge,” Dany reminded him, Baelish’s head still dripping blood at her feet, “and there’s steel. You can have _one_. Tell your men to run across this bridge and die avenging Petyr Baelish, of all people, or dip your banners, bend the knee to your rightful Queen, and tell them you got their coin back. Which do you choose, my lord?”

Nestor was no fool, but he had to save face. “I need to confer with my bannermen.”

Dany rolled her eyes. “Quickly, then.”

Royce turned back toward his men, as Davos approached from behind.

“Was that what I’m to scold you about later?” Jon asked.

“Aye, Your Grace.”

Dany turned to him. “You gave her the dagger?” Her tone was almost accusatory.

Davos nodded. “I did, when she hugged His Grace.”

“Clever of you,” she grudgingly admitted, plainly angry with herself.

“No, Your Grace,” Davos replied. “Your plan was clever, but it went to shit. Sometimes you’ve got to stick a knife in ‘em and be done with it.”

Dany kept silent, eyes forward. _She knows he’s right, though_.

After pretending to debate, Royce made a show extracting assurances from Dany that they would be fully pardoned for their treason, which she would have done anyway. When they had her word, Royce and his bannermen one by one laid their swords at her feet. Once it was done, Dany turned back toward her own men, and realized that she was still holding Baelish’s head. She savored one last look at it, then tossed it lazily into the river, not even bothering to watch it fall.

“Feast tonight?” Bronn asked.

“No,” Dany replied coldly. _Soon or late, her patience with him will run out._ “Dinner. Us and Arya. No fanfare.” Jon knew it was because her pride was wounded, but he was grateful that he would not have to suffer through a prolonged, elaborate feast in Walder Frey’s hall.

Instead, Jon found himself suffering through a quiet, tense supper in Walder Frey’s hall. _This is not going well_ , he thought to himself. Love her or hate her, it was near impossible to be in the presence of Daenerys Targaryen and not feel a sense of awe. Arya Stark of Winterfell, however, was decidedly unimpressed.

Dany wore an olive green dress, not overly formal but fit for dinner with a highborn woman she’d only met for the first time a few hours ago. Arya wore what looked like the same clothes she’d been wearing while she traipsed around the Riverlands for a year. Dany kept her regal bearing, while at best, Arya maintained a stiff, shallow courtesy to avoid embarrassing Jon. But once she got a cup and a half of wine in her, she may as well have been splitting a stolen wheel of cheese with a stableboy.

“So what were you doing while Jon was learning to fight the Others?” Arya asked Dany.

“I was in Meereen. Conquering, ruling, freeing slaves.”

“Were there Others in Meereen?” _Please don’t do this._

Dany paused. “No,” she admitted.

“That wasn't very helpful, then, was it? Were you learning to ride your dragons?”

“I never really learned, it just happened one day.”

Arya needled Dany like the singers said Oberyn Martell fought the Mountain. She was quick, precise, relentless, poison-tipped, and impossible to strike back at.

“Arya, she’s your Queen. Remember your courtesies,” Jon admonished her.

Arya eyed her up and down, skeptically. “Not yet.”

“I heard you wanted to be a Faceless Man.” Dany shot back, after another awkward silence. “I assume you failed?”

 _Mead, mead, mead, mead, mead._ Jon poured some for himself and his bride, but mainly for himself.

“Dany. Drink this. Please.” He slid her cup toward her. _That was too obvious, now she knows you think she's being a cunt._ Dany had taught Jon many things, one of which was to never tell her when she was being a cunt.

Dany made a face, and a deep, disgusted sigh. “I suppose if I'm to win the North over, I should build a tolerance for it.”

“Hey.” Arya dropped an elbow on the table and pointed right at Dany with her fork, taking her aback. “If the drink in the North isn't good enough for you, you can bugger off right back the way you came.”

The rest of the table sat in stunned silence. Dany stayed remarkably calm. The only thing more terrifying to Jon than a raging Dany was a quiet Dany.   _Please, Daenerys. You can’t ask the North to accept you if you make an enemy of Arya Stark. I can vouch for you for now, but if a Stark daughter turns against you, then I’m a traitor marrying a tyrant._

“So how _did_ you become a dragon rider?” Arya continued, quite proud of herself that Dany had no reply to her threat. She knew the story, Jon was certain of it. She was doing this to extract certain admissions, not to truly learn anything.

“I was in a pit, surrounded by men who were about to murder me. My guards were overwhelmed. Drogon came from nowhere and landed in the pit,” her tone was growing more serious, more threatening. “It was chaos. Men were fleeing, burning, being torn apart. He roared at me. Right in my face. Tried to stare me down. He challenged me. ‘Mount me or die, mother.’ So I mounted him, and I rode, and he was mine.” By the end, Dany’s grin was outright predatory.

“For fuck’s sake,” Bronn groaned under his breath, turning to Tyrion. “You told me the Starks were the normal ones.”

Jon choked on his food once he caught the sellsword’s meaning, and gulped down the rest of his mead.

“Were those men trying to murder you because you buggered up their whole part of the world and did a shit job fixing it?” Arya asked smugly.

Dany again had no response, but couldn’t afford to look away to think of one. Arya sensed an opening and struck.

“So you just failed your way back to the Iron Throne, didn’t you?”

Jon glared at Arya. _You do know how it ended for Oberyn, right?_

The smile on Dany’s face was the one she gave men who truly deserved to die screaming. Without lifting her hand off the table, she pointed toward the door.

“Go,” she commanded, barely audible. She didn’t mean everyone, but everyone knew who she meant.

“Oh, come—Your Grace…” Bronn never called her that. He never called anyone anything. “Please, indulge your humble servants, I beg you. How much to watch? I’ll pay for the bear fucker, too,” he offered, pointing at a beaming, wide-eyed Tormund. That was wildly inappropriate, but Bronn had finally gotten his handsome reward, and Jon could not fault him for how he chose to spend it.

“ _Go!_ ”

As soon as the rest left, Dany leapt from her chair, kicked it backward onto the floor and crawled across the table toward Arya. The wolf child was ready, on her feet herself.

“ _Cunt_ ,” Dany hissed, grabbing a fistful of Arya’s shirt and yanking it toward her. Their lips locked, their hands grabbed each other’s hair, Arya leapt up and pinned Dany down at her shoulders, and the battle was joined.

It was more combat than lovemaking, but it wasn’t hate that drove them so much as the lust for a challenge. Arya was half a child, and a rude one at that, whose only talent of note was sticking people with the pointy end at opportune times. Dany was a grandiose whore who sat around eating figs and getting her toenails painted while her monsters and eunuchs did the hard work for her. As a matter of principle, neither could let the other win.

Arya tore open the top of Dany’s dress like she’d torn open Petyr Baelish’s stomach. The silk was more expensive than everything she’d ever worn put together. She grabbed Dany’s breasts and squeezed, hard, pushing them together and digging her nails into them. Dany gasped, hinting at pleasure.

That would not serve. She wrapped her arms around Arya to hold her in place, and drove a knee straight into her cunt, seizing on the surprise and rolling back on top. Before Arya could recover, Dany backhanded her across the face, the _crack_ of flesh on flesh drowning out everything in the room even after it had passed.

Jon looked at Irri from the corner of his eye. She was rapt, slack-jawed, a hand between her thighs, moving on its own accord. _Good, I’m not alone, then_.

“Do you know who I am, or must I teach you?!” The Queen demanded, with a hand pressed firmly on Arya’s throat.

Arya pulled her head down by a braid of silver hair and growled into her ear. “You’re another blonde cunt who can’t fight as good as she thinks.” She spat right in Dany’s face, hitting her in her left eye and forcing her to flinch. When her eyes opened, they raged like Jon had never seen them rage before. Jon almost soiled his breeches from that alone.

Dany shot Irri a look. “It’s in the chest, get it!” Irri sprinted from the room as Dany spat back and hit Arya on the bridge of her nose.

Jon’s mind was focused exclusively on watching every second of this, and getting his cock out of his pants. He'd worry about what “it” meant later.

Dany managed to roll herself back on top, undo Arya’s belt, and force a hand down her breeches, working on pushing her smallclothes aside. She found room to slide two fingers into Arya’s cunt, and watched as Arya’s body shuddered.

“Look how wet you get for this blonde cunt,” she taunted, drawing her fingers back out, bending them ever so slightly along the way, beckoning her to keep trying to fight and feel herself lose.

A heartbeat before she would have succumbed to the pleasure, Arya reached up what was left of Dany's dress and smirked when she found no smallclothes to push aside. “Is that because horses don't have fingers?” She whispered in Dany’s ear as the Queen gasped and moaned.

Dany spied Jon out of the corner of her eye, and in an instant, Arya became a mere distraction. She put one hand over Arya’s mouth and pinched her nose with the other. Arya's eyes widened in fear as she grabbed Dany's arms and tried to push her hands away, but Dany remained utterly calm.

“Hush,” she said, her tone almost conversational. “I won't harm you. I mean it.”

Arya gradually released her grip on Dany's arms, and Dany responded in kind, allowing her to breathe.

“Look at Jon,” Dany urged. They both turned their heads and looked at him as he slowly, mindlessly stroked his cock. Jon felt like two shadowcats had stumbled upon him pissing in the woods. “He wants your cunt, and you want him to take it,” Dany told her, almost petting her. Arya bit her lip, her eyes wide again.

It was like Dany had pulled his entrails out through his mind. _She knows. She just KNOWS. How?!_ Jon had lusted after Arya since the night he discovered how good it felt to play with his cock, but he always thought he'd done a good job hiding it. He made some tentative, awkward advances, but he was overwhelmed by his fear of what would happen if she refused him and told Ned. He was still half a boy, and she was years away from her flowering, which made him feel even worse. Once he’d left for the Wall, and learned she was presumed dead, he moved on, and considered it a passing phase. He never mentioned it to anyone, even Dany, yet she knew it anyway.

Jon wasn’t bound to anything, but he still felt paralyzed. _I can’t. She’s my sister_ . He would  always see her that way, no matter the truth. _I can imagine it, though. It’s no crime to imagine it._ His eyes fell upon hers, and they both began to imagine.

Dany put a hand around Arya’s throat and smacked her to regain her attention. “Shall we give him what he wants?” Arya looked up, stunned, reconsidering her assessment of the Queen.

“Should we?” Arya asked meekly, slowly losing her grip on her own will.

“You want to, don’t you?”

“Uh huh.” It was more a moan than an answer.

“Not yet. He’s halfway to spilling his seed already.”

_I’m halfway to begging your leave to spill it. Please know I’m not so presumptuous. Please, Your Grace. I’m a good boy._

“You _must_ make him work for it,” Dany explained as she climbed off the table, took Arya by the hand, and helped her to her feet.. “Boys must be taught to earn it.” They kissed again, the Queen fondling his little sister’s cunt with one hand and sliding the belt off of her with the other.

“The world lies to them. They think they’re entitled to us,” she went on, breaking the kiss and folding the belt in her hand. “He knows better with me, but men are slow creatures.” Dany straddled Jon, grabbed his cock, and pressed the head against her clit, grinding back and forth but not letting him inside. “You’re a stupid one, aren’t you, bastard?” She asked, smiling down and caressing his cheek.

Jon spied Arya leaning against the table and playing with her cunt, her pants sliding down to around her knees as she began to kick her shoes off. _Show your little sister how much you’ve learned_ . The urge to please her, and impress her, overtook everything else. _That’s a good thing. Proof you’re learning your place_.

He nodded into Dany’s eyes. “Yes, Your Grace. So stupid,” he answered in blissful awe.

Dany laughed. “That’s right.” She dismounted him and pulled him up by his hair. “Bend over.” She commanded, tossing him in the general direction of the table. Jon did as he was bid. “Palms on the table.” Jon’s palms hit the table without a heartbeat’s delay. He looked over at Arya, still playing with her cunt. _Come here_ , he thought. _Have my tongue. Teach me how you like it_.

From behind him, Dany reached for Arya’s hand, and she rose and passed out of Jon’s field of view, toward the Queen. Jon heard Dany snap the belt in her hands.

“Are you going to be a little _shit_ to your sister?” Her Grace asked.

The next thing Jon felt was a numbing sting on his left ass cheek. The belt was more painful than her hand; not quite as painful as the whip, but somehow even more effective. They were both right behind him. They wouldn’t need to stop and walk toward him to correct his insolence. There was no escaping them. Even when he would inevitably retreat into his own mind, they’d follow him there, too.

“Or will you remember what you are?” The next lash came to his right cheek, as he felt the left one grow warm where the belt had struck him.

“I’ll remember, Your Grace!” He answered, wincing from the pain.

Dany hit him again on the left side. “Good.” After a brief pause, she hopped up onto the table and sat so his head was between her thighs. The belt was no longer in her hand. “Hit him!” She commanded, looking back at his little sister.

It still stung, but not as much as when the Queen had done it. Jon was eager for it to hurt more, remorseful that the world had taught even women like Arya Stark to be so gentle and tentative when showing a man where he belonged.

“ _Harder!_ ” Dany was having none of it.

Arya let out a grunt of exertion. The next one made tears well in his eyes. He sucked his breath in through his teeth, and curled his hands into fists.

Dany slapped Jon on the knuckles. “Palms!” Jon immediately corrected himself, despite his body’s urge to distract from the pain. “Again!” Arya needed no more coaxing. Jon could feel his skin beginning to swell. _Please break skin, sweet sister_.

The royal cunt was agonizingly close. He could smell it, and feel its heat as Dany leaned back and began to pleasure herself, but it was just out of his tongue’s reach.

Dany chuckled to herself, and grabbed Jon’s hair in her fist. “Look at this,” she told Arya. Jon had started to squirm toward her cunt, proving her point. “He thinks he can just lick it as he pleases. Should we let him be so presumptuous?”

“No!” Arya responded, angrily and lustily.

“Then _fucking_ teach him!”

Arya Stark was never afraid to let her anger out, even when she was a child, but back then, she had her parents and Septa Mordane and Maester Luwin to contend with. But they were all dead now, and Arya had years of needlework and ugly dresses and curtsies to avenge, all imposed on her by some man thousands of years ago who decided that’s what girls should do. All Jon wanted was to suffer for what that man did, and show Arya how much a man could please her when he knew his place.

And suffer he did. The pain was blinding. The effort to keep his palms flat became almost too much for him to bear. _Don’t be insolent, don’t be insolent, don’t be insolent_ . That was all he could tell himself. Somewhere in the midst of this, he’d been commanded to count the lashes and thank his little sister for each one. At twenty-five, he began to cry, and could no longer get the words out. “Twenty-six” came out as a whimper. _No, no, no_. He would not let his body’s weakness displease them.

Dany just laughed and tugged his hair. “What was that, bastard? Come again?” She taunted.

“Let’s make him start over,” Arya suggested excitedly. Jon didn’t know if he could do that again.

Jon heard the door open. His view was blocked by Dany’s thigh and the tears in his eyes, but he could sense Dany turn her head and smile. She sighed, almost purring.

“Later,” Dany decided.

“Later,” Arya agreed, her voice trailing off.

Jon exhaled in relief, and felt Arya’s soft hand caress his stinging cheeks. It hurt a bit, as his skin was so sensitive, but it reassured him.

“Here, _Khaleesi_ ,” Irri said as she bounded up to the table. Jon saw Dany take something in her hand and move it between her thighs. A lump of dread formed in his throat.

Jon could not say what it was made of or where Dany had procured it, but it was shaped just like a hard, respectably-endowed cock, covered in fine leather and attached to a harness designed to fit around a woman’s hips.

_No no no no, please, no._

“No no no no, please, no. _Please_ , Your Grace. I can't. I can't.” He knew exactly what she meant to do with it. He could feel his body clench up, bracing itself as she edged back on the table to put it on.

“You can't what, bastard?” She grinned.

“Please don't make me say it, Your Grace.” He never thought he would have to beg his way out of something like this.

“Everyone else in the room can do it, are you saying you're the weakest among us?”

Jon didn't know how to answer that. He couldn’t think of any reason why he wouldn’t be.

Dany rested her feet on Jon’s back. “It's alright, we knew that already,” she assured him, lovingly tapping his nose with her finger. “A Queen is sworn to protect the weak, and I suppose that includes that little cunt you've got back there as well.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” His body relaxed ever so slightly.

“But so is a King. I've given you a weak man of your own to protect, and I won't have you demanding things of him that you're not prepared to do yourself.”

Jon was still uncertain how much he would ever demand of Aegon on his own accord, but he did have to admit he felt himself stir when he thought back to the night in the cabin. _And of course she knows that, even though we’ve never discussed it_.

“Do you take my meaning, slut?”

If he hadn't before, the word “slut” removed all doubt.

“Yes, Your Grace.” _Make me your fucking slut_. That thought caught him off guard.

“Good.” Dany fixed the harness around her waist. Her eyes lit up and her smile grew wide across her face. “Suck my cock.”

Jon did his best imitation of what women had done to him, though he hadn't the slightest notion whether he was good. It was strange--frustrating, in truth--knowing that Dany couldn't feel every move of his tongue, or the pressure of his lips around her cock. He had always taken pride in how her body reacted to his tongue, and how adept he had become at subtle responses to even her slightest movements. This felt false. More for his debasement than any true sensation on her part.

“You had a boywhore for a steward at Castle Black, didn’t you?” Dany reminded him.

Jon looked up and nodded.

“Did you ever get jealous?”

 _Satin lived better than you ever did at Winterfell,_ that increasingly powerful voice inside him countered. And it wasn't wrong.

His eyes widened at the realization, betraying that his response was not an immediate, visceral “no.” Instead he froze. _Just keep sucking_.

“He was! Look at him! He was!” Dany looked at the other two women, running her fingers through his hair. Jon turned red, and heard giggles from Irri and his sister.

 _Satin was as good a man as any,_ he told himself. Jon had always respected him for having the courage to tell the truth about who he was, unlike so many of his other Black Brothers. He looked up into his Queen’s eyes, still sucking. _‘Precisely. So why are you so craven about it?’_ She asked with her gaze.

“Part of you has always wanted a bit of cock in your mouth,” she told him, pressing on the back of his head. “All the way down your bastard throat.” _I am no craven. Put it all the way down_ , he thought, as he felt it slide in deeper. “I’ve always known it.” That sent a shiver down his spine.

He gradually felt himself _wanting_ to be like Satin, but better. Satin worked for some whoremonger in Oldtown. He worked for the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. He _had_ to be better. Daenerys Targaryen had no need of coin, but for some reason, all he wanted was to earn it for her. As much as he could get, from whatever strange men happened to wander in the room and pay for it.

 _Would you like that, Your Grace? Would you like me to kneel before you and empty a sack of gold at your feet?_ His cock grew hard at the mere thought of it. _She would laugh,_ he told himself. _Even my best would be a pittance to her. I flatter myself thinking anyone would pay for my filthy slut mouth._ But maybe with practice he could earn a few coppers. _Tease the head with your tongue. She’ll like that._

She did, and licked her lips to show it. “Irri, sweetling, he’s being so well-behaved tonight. Reward him.”

“Yes, _Khaleesi_ ,” she said happily as she got under the table and took Jon’s cock into her mouth.

“And you,” Dany beckoned Arya back to the table, slowly reclining onto her back. “I’m not done with you yet.” Wordlessly, Arya climbed up, straddled Dany's face, and rode. Jon could not help but to look up at the Queen’s chin under his sister’s ass. _I've wanted that since before I knew what it was._

At first, Irri’s mouth was too warm, her tongue too good at what it was doing, that he had to work to stay on his task. Arya’s gasps and moans and writhing didn’t help. But as he sucked, just a little bit deeper each time, Jon began to realize that for Dany, this was not about humiliating him as an end in itself. Nor was it about pretending to feel something her body couldn't feel.

Like so many things Dany did, it was about power. Even the Mother of Dragons could not escape the fact that being born with a cunt limited her. She had a crown, and an army, and hordes of men who worshipped her as a god and owed their lives to her. But she still lacked a cock, and even without the privileges men enjoyed by virtue of merely having one, a cock was a symbol of conquest in itself.

It suited Dany to have an extension of her body designed to subjugate another person, and put them at her mercy. Send wonderful and terrible sensations throughout their body, and demand that they put her desires before their own. She could make it hurt if she wanted to. She could paralyze them with their own pleasure and then make it hurt even more. Its mere presence was an invasion. It demanded to be worshipped or fought against, but it would not be ignored. _That’s the essence of Her Grace’s entire life_ , Jon realized. She didn’t need to _feel_ anything; she took more than enough pleasure in seeing and hearing and understanding what Jon was doing at her command.

Jon heard Arya’s moans grow louder, and felt the table shake. His sister was not bashful about taking her pleasure from the Queen’s face and mouth, and from the way Dany’s hips were grinding, she seemed more than willing to give it. _I want her, I want her, I want her_. He couldn’t help but look up. He prayed to all the gods he’d ever known that Dany would let him do that soon.

Dany sat up once Arya came down from her peak and rolled off of her. She kicked a heel against Jon’s back, after relishing one more look at him, sucking just as desperately as when he’d started, despite her not paying him the slightest attention in some time.

“Enough.” She declared. “You have a long way to go before you’re ready for a pillow house, but you have a talent for it.” She trapped his eyes in hers. “A _natural_ talent.” She pointed behind him. “Get back in your fucking chair.”

Irri had worked Jon to where there was nearly no turning back, but he sighed deeply and pulled out. Irri knew better than to chase it. Jon pushed himself up off the table and stumbled back toward the chair.

“Wolf slut. Please my sweetling,” Dany commanded as she rose from the table, grabbed a flagon of wine, and carried it with her toward Jon. “Sweetling. Don’t let the wolf slut be an insolent cunt to you.”

Dany’s body filled Jon’s view as she straddled and mounted him. As excited as he would have been to watch Irri and his sister struggle with each other, Dany wiped his mind clean of any thoughts of his own. Her eyes, her breasts, her stomach, her hips, the way she walked, the look on her face, the way her hair bounced--all of it; everything about her--overwhelmed him, as it always did.

She put her free arm on his shoulder and around his neck, mounted his cock, and kissed him deeply. _I’m home._ He put his hands around her waist and let his hands explore. There was no method to it. Whenever his fingers found a new curve or muscle that he hadn’t noticed before, he felt it with his palm, caressing it, committing it to memory. And when he was done, he moved on to the next spot his fingers had discovered. _Everything about her is a command for me to follow_ , he thought, as the bliss of her cunt taking him in took over.

Her Grace broke the kiss and brought the flagon to his lips. “Drink.”

Jon nodded compliantly and took a sip.

She tipped it forward. “More.” She bounced on his cock harder.

Jon took a bigger gulp, then another, until he’d had enough. He looked up at her, his mouth still open, wine dripping down his chin.

“You’ll need to relax for the next part,” she told him, setting the flagon down on the floor. “I can’t have you fighting me. Do you hear me, boy?”

He nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.” _I was a fool to think I could escape it_.

“I’ll be gentle, but resisting me only makes it worse for you.”

 _Resisting you has never made anything better for anyone_. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“Thank me when I’m done with that slutty ass of yours.” She reached back for the flagon and had him take another gulp. Jon could feel it warming the inside of his body. “We’ll start once you’ve drunk the whole thing.”

He drank as fast as he could. Dany took her pleasure as he was drinking, but forbade him his own. By the time he rose from the chair, he was drunker than he realized. Dany laughed and tossed him back over the table.

As soon as Jon regained his bearings, he felt a strange pressure between his cheeks as Dany’s wet finger teased the outside of his ass. He couldn't say if he was more terrified of the pain he was waiting for, or the pleasure he felt in the moment. But he was drunk enough that it was easier to simply give himself to her and see what happened.

For all his life, Jon had ignored that part of his body unless he was shitting, and he liked it that way. Using it for anything else was at best a cause for mockery and at worst an abomination punishable by death; at least that’s what he’d been told. But something about even the light touch of Her Grace’s finger made his whole body tingle.

“Hush,” she whispered, comforting him. _I can stay. She won’t hurt me_. He let her finger inside him ever so slightly when she pushed. He gasped, and his eyes rolled back in his head, as if his mind was erasing itself and starting anew.

The deeper she got, the more comfortable he became, the more he relaxed, the deeper he let her in without resisting. _I must show my gratitude_. He knew it was no small thing for Daenerys to let him experience this. He knew she meant for it to please him as much as it did her, and he knew that the pleasure would free him from the bonds of whatever held him back from giving himself to her completely.

The movement of her finger was slight, but impossible not to notice. She curved it just enough that he felt it press against something inside him that he didn’t even know he had. Some muscle, some spot, some nerve, some other part of himself that in all his years he had never known, but that Dany mastered in seconds with a stroke of her finger. Jon felt a strange warmth spreading inside him. His face went flush. His knees buckled. Suddenly he _wanted_ it deeper.

“Mmm,” he heard Dany moan under her breath as she removed her finger, as she commanded Irri to put her cock back on for her, and Arya to get on the table in front of Jon.

“Let your brother have that cunt.” _Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you._

Arya wasted no time pulling Jon’s slutty face right into her crotch. They had both wanted this for so long that as soon as they knew they no longer had to hide it, they unleashed their years of longing and denial.

Jon was in the throes of relishing how utterly wrong it was, when he felt the pressure back between his cheeks. This time it was thicker than a finger. _That's wrong too. So wrong. Unnatural. Abominable...Fucking put it inside me._ He took a deep breath and relaxed his body as a sign that he was ready to be fucked.

Something about the way Dany placed her hand on the small of his back made him feel like a wanton, debauched whore. For a moment he forgot about his sister’s cunt. All he could feel was the thickness of Dany's cock, filling him, conquering and occupying him. _Don't forget. It will displease them both. You're their whore, you can't displease them._

With the Queen’s cock clearly back on, Irri climbed onto the table and straddled Arya's face. As Dany pushed her cock in deeper, Jon let out a moan of the most blissful agony he'd ever felt onto his sister’s clit. The sensation made Arya moan onto Irri’s clit, which made her press her cunt down hard on Arya's face and moan herself, like a wave that swept through the three of them.

Dany gripped Jon's waist harder and pulled him closer to her. He could sense how intoxicated she was with her new power and the way she'd wielded it, so he took the liberty of reaching up and pinching his sister’s nipples in time for Dany's next thrust, which made the wave consume them that much more completely.

“Fuck. Yes. Do that! Harder! _Hurt_ the bitch!” Dany grunted through clenched teeth. _Yes, hurt the bitch!_ Arya was long overdue to be put in line.

Dany kept her promise to be gentle, and Jon was grateful for it, but he already yearned for the day he could take all the pain she wanted to give. _Break my will. Take me like a bitch in heat._

Jon felt Dany's cock shift back to the same hidden spot where her finger had been. After a few strokes, his whole body seemed to melt, like it wasn’t even there any more. He was a _being_ , but not a man. He screamed and grunted as his sister dragged her cunt up and down over his face, forcing him to chase her clit with his tongue. Suddenly, he felt a twitch in his cock. A pulse. Something was moving through it.

 _Am I--?_ That couldn’t be. Dany hadn’t touched his cock since she rode him. No one had. But he couldn’t think of anything else it could be. His ass clenched around Dany’s cock, trying to hold back from whatever was happening. But it was quickly becoming futile. He moaned in spite of himself, and pushed his face closer against Arya’s cunt. The sensation in his cock overwhelmed his conscious urges and he screamed and gasped as his seed spilled onto the floor under the table. His gyrations finally took Arya over the edge, and she pulled him toward her and coated his face with the juice of her spasming cunt.

It was the first time in his life he’d done that without anyone paying his cock any attention, even for a heartbeat. _I don’t need her to pay attention to it. If I don’t need it, I’m not entitled to it. She can give me all I need without even looking at it._

Dany slowed down and gradually pulled out while Jon caught his breath and Arya hurried to finish Irri.

The Queen sighed playfully. “Look what you’ve _done_!”

Jon was too dazed to respond.

Dany leaned forward and gently, lovingly kissed him on the neck before nibbling on his ear. “What do good boys do?” She whispered sweetly.

“Good boys clean up, Your Grace.” The words came reflexively.

“So smart, for a bastard.” Dany stood back and let Jon’s own weight carry him off the table and onto the floor. He felt proud for needing no further instruction, and began to lap his seed off the floor like a dog at a puddle.

Dany met Arya at the table and the two kissed. The passion between them made plain that their struggle for power was far from over, but they were both too enraptured to continue it just yet.

As he was finishing with the last bit of his mess, Jon heard them fiddling with the straps of the harness. “You’ve always wanted to fuck him,” he heard Dany tell his sister. “So _fuck him_.”

Jon backed up from under the table, propped himself up by his elbows, and positioned his ass in the air. _Yes, fuck him_.

Breakfast the next morning verged on the bizarre. The men who did not have the pleasure of joining them last night eyed each of them as they entered, but no one spoke.

Jon winced as he sat, and shifted his weight uncomfortably. Next to him, Sam bit his cheek and went back to his bacon. Tyrion closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Davos feigned ignorance. Across from him, Tormund and Bronn each raised an eyebrow.

Bronn suppressed a smirk, looked down at his food, and cleared his throat. “Long ride to Winterfell,” he muttered, to no one in particular.

“Aye." Tormund's tone was gravely serious. "And hard." Bronn slapped the table and coughed violently into his fist.

 _Fuck all of you._ Maybe it was all in his mind. _Still, fuck all of you_.

Dany observed silently, but her glare stifled any further commentary.

Arya finally spoke up. “Who holds the Twins now?” It was a good question. No one had thought that far ahead.

“I suppose you do. You’re the wife of the last lord, and neither of you had children,” Jon reasoned. Arya smiled.

“Well,” Sam interjected. “The marriage wasn’t consummated.” _Stop it, just stop it._ Sam caught Jon’s look. “But then again, Viserys II dealt with something similar, and he held a Great Council, and they ruled that--”

Jon pinched Sam’s lips together. “Sam. You’re a far more learned man than I could ever hope to be, and I love you like a brother. But I’m the King, or near enough, and I’m giving her the bloody castle and its lands and incomes and all the other shite I’m supposed to say with it. That’s the part where your mouth shuts, yes?” Sam looked to Dany, who nodded affirmatively. Jon released his lips.

“As you say, Your Grace. I’ll prepare the ravens before we leave.”

“Do that, and pretend we said the other shite.” They smiled warmly at each other.

The room fell silent again, but Bronn and Tormund still eyed him with their half-restrained grins, fletching arrows to loose when the Queen was elsewhere. _Say something, or this will be a fortnight of buggery jokes._ He turned to Dany on his left. “Well, the hardest bit’s over. Now all you have to do is drink mead.” He elbowed her and smiled like a fool. The jape landed like a corpse on the table, damning him to the buggery jokes, but Dany played along anyway, clutching her throat with one hand and playfully pretending to gag.

Arya dropped her fork on the table and pointed right at Dany. “I was serious last night. If you mean to go up there and shit all over how we live, you’d best take your silver hair and your fine silks and your no smallclothes back to King’s Landing. You’re too clever by half, and we’re too proud to bend the knee to that ilk.” Her eyes never wavered.

Jon had never seen anyone speak to Daenerys like that, and he’d never seen that kind of fear in her eyes. He was mortified, but part of him brimmed with pride.

“...It was only a jape, my lady,” Dany muttered sheepishly. “My apologies.”

Arya gave Dany another once-over for good measure. The Queen’s eyes retreated back to her plate, where she resumed her meal, duly chastened.


	8. Daenerys IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A khaleesi must have a khal," said Irri, as she filled the queen's cup once again. "This is known."
> 
> \-- _A Dance with Dragons_ , Daenerys III

Dany rode into Winterfell abreast with Jon, dressed as plainly as a Queen could dress, in a breastplate of boiled leather branded with the three-headed dragon, a modest crown styled after that worn by the Good Queen Alysanne, and simple riding clothes. Her face was serious, her best mix of humility and a refusal to be intimidated, two masks she would have to wear indefinitely, until Jon’s bannermen blessed their union.

Normally, the first mask would be harder for her than the second, but Dany had been on edge this entire trip, even more so after the rider came with word that Volantis was massing its strength and meant to sail west. Drogon could not reach Volantis without resting, and without a foothold in the south of Essos, rest meant being alone and unguarded, open to attack from even a modest enemy force. _I should have sent men to garrison the Stepstones before I razed Braavos_ , she berated herself. _Now my threats ring empty._ The way she played the game, that could mean death. Tyrion returned to King’s Landing immediately to rule in her stead, and she had no choice but to trust he would prepare the city for siege as well as he had when his sister held it.

Dany could not afford to make enemies in the North, yet out of everywhere she’d ever been, the North seemed the least concerned about making an enemy of her. Save for an army of the dead, no one could conquer them from the outside, and they knew it. And despite Jon having freed them from just such an army with Dany’s indispensable help, they still saw no reason why they should allow their King to bend the knee to some half-mad southron whore.

When they reached the center of the courtyard, Jon dismounted and approached the welcoming party first, with Dany far enough behind to give them time to kneel for Jon and rise again, avoiding any ambiguity as to whom they were kneeling for. Dany joined Jon as he broke his hug with Sansa. As expected, the Lady of Winterfell was all courtesies. _This is a challenge_ , Dany knew. _If I seem ungracious, Sansa can do with me as she pleases_.

Dany admired Sansa, and hoped this trip would not sour their warm if not overly close friendship. Her sense was that Sansa would be happy if Jon was happy, and that the Northerners who misliked her would make themselves well known. But if there were any vipers in Winterfell’s grass, it would be Sansa. Dany held her own, with a warm, grateful salutation, and a tasteful, carefully crafted jape about how King’s Landing was far too hot. _It’s hot there, but cold here, don’t you see?! Ha ha ha ha ha! I fucked your sister_ , she informed Lady Stark with a look from her bright, smiling violet eyes.

Once the pleasantries were over, Jon, Dany, and the Northern lords assembled in the great hall for the discussion that Dany feared would be less pleasant. She spied Irri, off to the side with the other servants, where Dany had relegated her to avoid drawing attention. _I'm sorry, sweetling. Soon. I promise_.

Three Queensguard lined the side wall, their right arms extended so their spears stood at an angle, and their helms under their left arms. It was the best the Unsullied could do to protect the Queen without looking like slave soldiers of a foreign occupier, but to Lyanna Mormont and her allies in the room, they could have been in dresses handing out lemon cakes, and they would still be precisely that.

“She just means to grab more power for herself,” the Lady of Bear Island shouted from her table in the center of the hall, interrupting Jon’s conciliatory introduction at the first mention of Daenerys. _And it begins_.

“I knew you would say that, my lady,” Jon responded, “and I’ll address it. But let me--”

“That’s all she knows how to do,” Lyanna cut him off. “Just like her father, and all those inbred tyrants before him.”

Bargaining with the lords of the North, especially as their liege, was a game. They would speak harshly at times, to see how Jon reacted. Any hint of fear, or any presumption that because he’d won their respect once meant he’d have it this time, would doom him. But he could not simply have her tongue out. He must let this child berate him for a few minutes before putting her in her place. Forbidding a bannerman from questioning him was every bit a sign of weakness as cowering.

“She’s not her forebears, my lady. Should I hang Ser Jorah’s shame around your neck as well? Let me finish.” His tone was firm, but not yet angry.

“ _No_ , Your Grace. You let _me_ finish, before her eunuchs and savages slaughter us under Lady Stark’s roof.” Dany felt her stomach twist. Lyanna Mormont could call her a whore and a tyrant all she liked, but to accuse her of even thinking of violating guest right was damning.

Shouts of agreement rang from different corners of the room. _I must address this now_ , she knew, _or I may as well go home_. Dany rose and turned to her Queensguard.

“Wait outside,” she commanded, loudly enough to quiet the room, “but leave your spears here. Lady Mormont’s guards can hold them until we’re done.” She unbuckled her sword belt and placed it on the table, her ceremonial Valyrian steel _arakh_ , with which she possessed only rudimentary skill, still in its sheath. “This, too.”

As her eunuchs filed out, Dany moved in front of the dais so everyone could see that she was not one to hide behind symbols of power. _There is no greater sign of strength than to make oneself vulnerable_. Irri and Jon had taught her that, and that filled her with an odd sort of pride.

“My lords,” she continued, once the Queensguard were gone and the weapons collected, “I know you have no great love for my House, or the Iron Throne, and I know that a few days of feasting will not change that. This may be Lady Stark’s castle, but when I passed Moat Cailin I became a guest of all of you. Any of you who mistrust me, place your sword across your knees like you would for any guest you mistrusted. I will do you no harm for it, no matter what happens here today. It’s your right, and your custom, and I will not ask you to abandon that, or exempt me from it.”

About two in three took her offer.

“My forebears may have neglected you, or worse. Many honorable Northmen have traveled south, only to die in the pit of vipers that King’s Landing can sometimes be.”

Dany’s highborn King’s Landing accent made every word sound arrogant and imperious, whether she wanted it to or not; even more so when she projected her voice to a group. It won her no friends here.

“Some of them died at my father’s hands, and many of you may fear that I am little more than my father reborn.”

“Aye,” someone replied, loud enough to be heard but not seen, setting off more muttering in agreement.

Dany did not begrudge them that. “This is not my first time in the North. I came here under more dire circumstances, but I left when they passed. I swore a vow to leave the North sovereign, and I kept it. I gave you coin and food and men to put your Kingdom back together, but not so I could come here today and claim you owe me a debt. I did it because you're as much a part of the Realms of Men as anywhere else. A vast, beautiful, proud, and ancient part. A part that gave us many great men, including the man I love. I burned my way from the Neck to the Wall and beyond. Helping set your land to right is not a favor, but a duty. You are not in my debt, my lords. I am in yours.”

 _Everyone loves a nice tongue up their ass_. Lady Mormont’s eyes narrowed as she surveyed the room.

“There are men across the sea who mean to divide us. To keep us separate and weak. They mean to raid your shores, rape your daughters, steal your food, and destroy all you've worked so hard to rebuild. To make your children into bedslaves and ditch diggers halfway across the world. To cut down your heart trees and make them into trinkets to line their halls. To sate their greed with the fruits of your toil. I’ve known them. I’ve escaped them. And I’ve _crushed_ them. They hope that you and I will bicker. That we will let pride and ancient grudges keep us from stopping them. Should we fall for their trap? Should we submit to our children’s enslavement as a fair price for the privilege of clinging to the past?”

Another round of muttering washed through the room, ever so slightly more favorable this time.

“They say the North can defend itself, and they’re right. I could not swoop in here on a dragon and conquer you, even if I wanted to. But while your land as a whole can defend itself, a fishing village cannot. A ship on the open sea cannot. Molestown cannot. The Gift cannot. The weirwoods cannot. The memory of our forebears cannot. _Our children cannot!_ ” She reached back and pounded the table.

Her accent became less a curse with every word. _I’m good at this_.

“We can stay divided and spend the rest of our years fighting off pirates and slavers and pretenders from the East, telling ourselves the lie that we don’t share common cause. That we don’t depend on each other to survive and prosper. That not joining our strength makes us stronger and not weaker.”

“Or, we can unite under one banner. The last banner in the world that they fear.” She pointed to the dragon sigil on her chest. “When the Dragon banner first came to Westeros, it was meant to scare the Realm into submission. But in the last _three hundred years_ , so much has happened. Rebellions, alliances, betrayals beyond count. The Others. Lyanna Stark and my brother. Jon, your King, _happened!_ ”

There were scattered applause. _Don't stop, let it build._

“And my love for him happened. And now, the Dragon is as much his as mine. It’s as much yours as ours. Use it, my lords! Use its power. Let it fly on your ships and above your men beside the direwolf, the merman, the bear, the mailed fist, the sunburst, and the giant in broken chains. Let it defend you. Let your _King_ defend you with all the strength he can gather!”

Fists pounded on tables, agreeable muttering became sporadic shouts, and a few swords went back in their sheaths.

“This one sings a lovely song, my lords,” Lyanna Mormont stood and countered, struggling to regain her foothold. “But when the mummer’s farce is over, she’s still a half-mad tyrant. And she’s like to go madder, like her father, and so many of her forebears. Let’s not pretend we haven’t heard the rumors. They must be true, just look at her. And if we bend the knee to her, we bring that _filth_ into our land with her.“

Lady Mormont kept her eyes on the dais, but Dany spotted the look on Irri’s face, icy enough to freeze the little girl’s balls right off. _That filth is sitting right there, my lady. And next time, she’ll sit at the dais._ Dany held her tongue, reluctantly.

“ _Enough!_ ” Jon bellowed. “Lady Mormont. Sit. _Now._ ” His eyes followed her down until her ass was firmly in her chair. Dany noticed Sansa’s head turn toward him, measuring, though her face was the same mask of aloof grace it had been since the courtyard.

“I don’t know every rumor all of you have heard,” Jon went on. “I’m certain some are outlandish and false, but some may be true as well. I will not demean my crown, or hers, by speaking to each one. I _will_ say, however, that I did only two things that matter when I rode south. I got Lady Arya back with almost no bloodshed, as I promised, and I fell in love with Queen Daenerys. Every one of you knows me well. If you think I would love a woman who fucks horses and bathes in children’s blood, then go on believing that. There’s naught I can say to you.”

“Say that if you love this woman so much, you’ll give Sansa your crown, marry as you please, and leave us out of it,” Mormont answered, to no reaction from Sansa. _Seems that Sansa can speak with someone else’s lips. She should join a mummer’s troupe, and leave me out of it._

“Because that still leaves us divided!” Jon shot back. “If Daenerys were truly the tyrant you fear she is, she would have stayed at Castle Black after the war. She would have had her soldiers turn on us when they came to our aid. She would have had me bend the knee in King’s Landing without seeking your blessing first. She’s here because _I_ asked her to come, and because if she’s to rule you, _she_ wants to rule you justly. You can sit here and waste Lady Sansa’s meat and mead, and your time and mine, gawking at us, guessing at what goes where like we’re a puzzle box, or you can judge the both of us by what we’ve done to give you and your people the most peaceful and prosperous lives we can give.”

The bannermen stayed quiet. _They would rather work the puzzle box_ , Dany wagered.

Dany sent a squire to retrieve a parchment and quill from the castle’s maester. “I do not expect you to bend the knee merely because your King and I have by chance fallen in love. But for the sake of that love, I would beg you, please, stay with me in this hall until we can agree on terms. Words are wind, but they do not scatter so easily when they’re put to paper. I will write them in mine own hand, and bind myself and all my heirs and successors to my word.” _What heirs? “_ Please, do this for your own people. For the strength you'll need in the wars to come.”

For their fealty, Dany promised that there would always be at least one Northerner on the Small Council. No taxes would be levied on the North without the blessing of that Council member and the Lord of Winterfell. No Northern soldiers would be sent into battle without a Northern commander. The Crown would do everything in its power to ensure that a Stark was always in Winterfell, even go to war against pretenders, and if the Stark line ever died out, the Northern lords alone would choose a successor.

That won over many, and outright bribes won the rest. The Crown would purchase timber from a cartel of Forresters, Glovers, and Cerwyns before anyone else. A new road would be built between Winterfell and Deepwood Motte. The Kingsroad would be widened and flattened all the way to the Wall, as would the road from Winterfell to White Harbor. Moat Cailin would be permitted to levy a toll on all travelers who pass it from the south. The Crown would keep one-tenth, and the rest would be allocated at Winterfell’s discretion.

By dusk, only Lady Mormont and a handful of minor lordlings still opposed her. But their arguments grew tired and tiresome, and their cohorts chafed at them for standing in the way of their windfalls. Eventually the she-bear had no choice but to break.

“If you must do this, do it in the godswood,” she told Jon, looking past Dany as if she weren’t even there. “Let the old gods bless this, not some Septon.”

 _It's all mine._ “Done,” Dany and Jon said, in unintended unison. _Tyrion would be proud._

Success made Dany’s blood run hot, and she wasted no time taking her pleasure when they returned to their chambers in the First Keep to rest.

“You two are on this continent at my sufferance,” she reminded her sluts, as they squirmed in their chains, “just like everyone else, now,” in case they hadn't paid attention earlier. Their wrists were suspended above their heads in manacles; the chains attached to hooks on the ceiling, installed to hold a large chandelier.

They were about three feet apart from each other; Jon’s chains high enough to force him to stand, with his feet just barely touching the floor. Irri’s chain was longer, and only became taut when she was on her knees, which she was. She could have stood, and the slack would give her at least some range of motion, but she knew better.

They nodded in fervent affirmation. She lashed Jon across the back, then Irri.

“Then why don't you _fucking_ act like it?!” The washcloth gags allowed no denials or explanations, only muffled, plaintive apologies. That was the point.

 _I need this. It’s been far too long._ For a fortnight, at least, she had to settle for furtive rutting in a tent as they made camp along the Kingsroad each night. She had been irritable since the Twins, and the news from Volantis made it even worse.

It had been even longer since she’d beaten them for its own sake. Bringing Jon and Aegon into her service, teaching them their respective purposes, and helping Irri feel safe again without forgetting herself had been taxing. There were so many rules to teach and enforce; so many limits to push; so much restraint to show; so much coddling and reassurance.

But her two loves had grown accustomed to each other, and she could sense a budding love between them. That made her smile. It provided some much-needed assurance that she could tame herself, and sate the monster inside her without forfeiting the two most precious people in her life. They needed her rules, and she was glad to set them, but sometimes she needed a world where her rules gave way to her whims; where she could take pleasure in their suffering with no lessons or explanations.

“You!” Her whip hit Jon on the small of his back, just to the right of his spine. “You call yourself a King, but I had to save you from some daft little girl,” she taunted, admiring the curves of the muscles in his back as he writhed.

Her focus moved to Irri, as did the business end of her whip. “And _this one_!” The serving girl squealed as it hit her between her shoulder blades. _Yes. Squeal. I will never tire of that_. “Could you have done any better?” She shook her head. _Not enough._ Dany hit her again. Her head shook more violently, and her cries vaguely resembled a “no _, Khaleesi!_ Never!” An improvement, but she still needed further breaking.

Dany placed the whip neatly on the bed. No one would care if she left it on the floor, but she often felt a compulsion to keep everything orderly and in its place, or the mere knowledge that it was strewn about somewhere would drive her mad.

Also on the bed was her cock and harness, which she promptly put in its place around her hips. _Would that I could wear this on the Throne_ , she thought, as she often did when her cunt was wet, _or slap it down on the table at Small Council meetings, and settle their bickering with a talent pageant._ She stood between her whores, approaching them from behind, slapping Jon’s ass and grabbing a fistful of Irri’s hair. “Both of you would be dead but for me. You owe me everything you are, and I mean to collect on that debt.”

Irri turned her head and gave Dany the saddest eyes she could muster, which only made Dany want to make her sadder. As she stepped forward and turned around to face her, she caught Jon’s eyes on her cock. _I could strap a basilisk between my legs and he’d want it in his mouth._ The thought was immensely satisfying. She knew part of him still feared what that meant. _All it means is that you care less what it is and more who it’s attached to_. She wished he could see the simple beauty in that. _Teach him, then!_  Still, his uneasiness made her cunt stir.

“Do you fear this, bastard?” His eyes tried and failed to deny it. “I would, if I were you.” She grabbed his semi-aroused cock, pulled it down hard and quickly, then released it and slapped it with the back of her hand. “It could replace you in an instant.” Her smile was so evil, her cunt throbbed just imagining what it looked like. “For every instant between now and your last breath, see that you give me a reason why it shouldn’t.”

The Queen turned back to Irri. “Rise.” Just as the girl was getting onto her feet, Dany grabbed her ankles, pulled them up, and dropped them back down in one motion. Irri hung there by her arms, swinging, only her heels touching the ground, fighting to stand on her own. _Struggle to resist, struggle to obey, makes no matter, I just want to see you struggle._

“Impressive,” Dany said once Irri was finally on her feet, as she spat into her palm and rubbed it on her cock. “But, like you, inconsequential.”

The Queen grabbed her slut’s legs just above the knee, and pulled upward. They instinctively wrapped around Dany’s waist to break a fall, and Dany forced herself into Irri’s soaked cunt. Irri’s back arched and her eyes opened wide, showing Dany her fear and shock and craving all at once. Dany could feel the girl’s heels digging into her back, pulling her in further. She grabbed Irri’s waist and slammed her body down onto the cock that felt more and more like a part of her body.

Any hint on Irri’s face that she wasn’t enjoying it melted away. _I was born for this._ Dany bit the little cunt’s neck as hard as she could, her ears pricking up at the sound of her tortured gasping.

She released her neck and promptly backhanded her. “I’m going to put a bastard in you,” she proclaimed, staring her down at her little rape toy, their foreheads touching. “Pray it turns out better than that one.” She spat in her face. “And better than you.” Dany could do no such thing, of course, but she wanted to see her sweetling lust at the notion. It was almost a good thing she couldn’t truly feel anything in her cock. The pleasure would cloud her mind, and she needed her mind to focus on hurting this girl.

And she did. Daenerys made certain to leave brazen bite marks on both sides of the girl’s neck, and handprints on both sides of her face. _The North will be mine in hours. Bugger it._ She pinched and pulled and twisted her nipples; squeezed and smacked and dug her nails into her breasts. She choked her; spat in her face; pulled her hair. All while this wanton slut pulled herself onto Dany’s cock with all her weight. Nothing had touched Dany’s cunt all night, but she knew that even the slightest brush of her clit with her fingers would send her over the edge.

When her need to make this girl scream became overpowering, Daenerys picked her up, threw her thighs over shoulders, and devoured her filthy slave cunt, sucking her clit mercilessly, eyes always open, pulling her closer when her shudders grew too strong, until her thighs were clenched so tightly around Dany's head that they muffled every sound.

Except the screams. All the talk of crowns and ruling and servants of her own had gone to Irri’s head, of late. She had begun to presume things. To forget herself. To see herself as Dany's equal. All of that went away when she reached her peak. Even through the gag, the screams confessed that she realized her error. Terror and shame and contrition permeated each one. She was no more than a slave of Daenerys Stormborn. A sack of flesh that Her Grace did with as she pleased, and rightly so, because Dany knew how to put it to far better use than she ever would. _This cunt is mine. YOU are mine._ Irri was beginning to find the pleasure unbearable. Her cunt spasmed and throbbed and her clit pulsed, but every time it felt like it might slip away, Dany sucked harder and massaged it with her tongue to keep it precisely where she wanted it. _Crown or none, you came to me a slave, and a slave you shall always be. How does it feel to know that I’ll break every shackle in the world except yours, my love?_

Irri's body finally gave in, and collapsed into dead weight. Dany slowly went down to one knee to let her down gently. Once she was stable, Dany unchained her and removed the gag. She leaned down to kiss her, but Irri began to rise on her own accord.

 _Has she learned nothing?!_ “No!” Dany smacked her and pushed her back down. She took her cock off and moved to Jon, reaching up, ungagging him, and sliding it down his throat. “Clean this, bastard.”

Irri had crawled the few steps over and planted soft, grateful kisses on Dany's feet as she gave her bastard his purpose.  _Such a sweet girl._  She decided to allow it. Jon, however, was being a little shit; gagging on the cock and wiggling his mouth away from it. _Unacceptable._

“That’s your best?” She smacked his ass and pushed it down deeper. “ _Suck it_ , don’t just drool on it! Not even the drunkest sailor would pay a groat for that. Do you think I'll keep you around if I don’t profit from the cunt on your face?!”

She looked down at Irri at her feet. “Suck his cock so he stops fidgeting like a feeble-minded child trying to read.” Irri obeyed, eagerly, as Dany removed her cock from the bastard’s mouth and cleaned it with the washcloth that had been his gag. She walked back to the bed and set it back down, adjusting it a few times before she finally let it alone to take the whip again in her left hand. _It’s worse than usual_ , she noticed, still not entirely satisfied with the way it sat on the mattress. She shook it off.

“Focus on the pain. The pleasure is only to distract you,” she told Jon as she lashed him once again across his back. “Her mouth on your cock does nothing for me. If it did, I would never let her stop.” She gave him another lash, closing her eyes and taking in the noise he made; a desperate, confused groan as his body tried to work out how he was supposed to feel in the moment.

“Like you’re _suffering_. That’s what you’re supposed to feel,” she answered his question for him, lashing him again. And again, this time crossing her left arm across her chest and swinging it down so the whip hit him on the other side of his back.

“All you want is to please me, isn’t it?” She hit him from the other direction; the whip landing on his left side. His ass cheeks clenched. She hoped that forced his cock further down Irri’s throat when she wasn’t prepared.

Jon grunted. “Yes, Your Grace!” Dany smiled. His breathing had been heavy for some time, but deep. After a few more lashes, and a heap more invective, it grew shallower and quicker. _He’s nearly done._ She coiled the whip in her hand and strode quickly toward Irri. Her slut’s eyes pleaded with her not to take her mouth off his cock. _I know, sweetling, but we can’t always have what we want_. She grabbed the girl’s hair, pulled her off, and tossed her to the floor, saying nothing to her, but turning immediately to Jon.

He looked down at her, pleading with his eyes as well. _Needy little shits today, aren’t you?_ She ran her left index finger up the underside of his shaft, clenched it, brushed the head with her thumb, and dug her nails into it, hard.

“ _No._ ” She bent it downward until she felt it starting to go soft, smacked it with her backhand again, and twisted his balls. “You can have your little shaking spell when I have your Kingdom.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” he replied, catching his breath.

She twisted his nipple and watched his face as he squirmed. “For ten million acres of frostbitten dirt, I’d say you cheated me.”

As much as she relished them, beatings were tiring for all involved, and the Mother of Dragons deemed it nap time before she and Jon had to present themselves in public again. The evening would begin with a signing ceremony in which she, Jon, and Sansa would all put their names to the treaty that Dany had worked out. Some of the Northern lords still mistrusted her, and wanted to bind her to her promises before the North became hers. When it was done, they would wed in the godswood, and promptly feast in celebration. It would not serve to have her yawning through such a momentous night.

An hour or so later, a refreshed Jon gave Dany his most succinct primer on the relevant Northern customs, while his bride sat near the brazier, enjoying her slave girl’s mouth, eager for the release as she’d woken up cranky. “Northern weddings are over and done with quickly,” he explained as he dressed. Dany saw his eyes on the back of Irri’s head her soft, perfect thighs wrapped around it. _She gets it first, bastard. Not you. Wait your turn. Watch. Envy. Torture yourself._

Her Grace never commanded it in so many words, but when the three of them were dressing for something, they had developed a habit in which Jon would strip Dany, and Irri would pleasure her while Jon dressed himself first. When he was finished, he would dress Dany, strip Irri, pleasure her, and dress her again while Dany whispered truly vile things in his ear throughout. Sometimes she would forbid Jon from wiping his face before they left. This pleased Dany greatly, and she quickly grew accustomed to it. It was a natural manifestation of the order of things as she willed it. There was a beauty to it, made even greater by how it came about organically, with no instruction, or bargaining, or planning.

“All you need is to stand there,” he continued, as Dany writhed and moaned, occasionally nodding to show she was, in fact, listening. “They’ll say ‘do you take this man,’ you say ‘I take this man,’ then we kneel by a tree and pretend to pray for half a minute, and it’s done.”

“Who will ask me if I take you?” Dany panted.

“Sansa, most like.”

Dany purred, held Irri’s head in place, and ground the royal cunt on her face like she was humping a pillow. Sansa’s sad attempt at seizing power from the rift with Lady Mormont, if that’s what it truly was, had failed, and Dany was eager to remind her of it.

Jon’s eyes went icy. “Dany. Please.” His tone was firm. “You can’t fuck her too. You just can’t.”

Dany stopped grinding. “Yes, I can,” She insisted, almost childishly.

“ _Not if you want me!_ ” His fury seemed to come from nowhere, stopping her cold. “Would you fuck my entire family, Daenerys? Would you run around the yard buggering ravens hoping one of them is Bran?! I can’t abide it.” His tone was final, to the extent any refusal of Daenerys’ will could be final.

“You can’t _abide_ it?!” Dany asked, extricating herself from her chair and walking toward Jon. _It was all going so well. Now this?!_

“I can’t. Not with Sansa.”

Dany moved to slap him, but he grabbed her wrist while it was still well away from his face, squeezed her forearm, and pushed it back. Her instinct was to thrust a knee into his crotch, but she was too stunned to act on it.

“ _No_ ,” Jon reiterated, even more forcefully. “She doesn’t want this. Don’t presume to know her secrets! She wants to marry a man like Loras Tyrell and think about the Hound while she fucks him. Let her have that! She’s aware that lovemaking can hurt. _Too_ aware. If she wants that, she’ll seek you out. You leave sore asses everywhere you go like your children leave sheep bones, it’s no secret you’d give it to her.”

He released her wrist but put his finger right in her face. “If you try to seduce Sansa, you can’t have me. And if my bannermen ask why the wedding’s off, I’ll tell the truth.”

Rage flashed in Dany’s eyes. “You--”

“I will go too, _Khaleesi_.” Irri stood, as Jon shot her a grateful look. _No, please._ “You convince yourself that everyone would enjoy what you do to them, _but that's a lie_. And you have no right to use them anyway and pretend they do. We love you for how much you demand of both of us, but you’ve pushed us hard enough of late.”

Dany felt like she’d been punched in the gut. _I thought I’d gotten better. I truly did._ “Very well,” she conceded, salvaging her dignity. “I’ll stay away from her. But do not presume to speak to me like that again.” _Presuming to speak to me like that is the only way I’ll listen to what I don’t want to hear_ , she admitted, silently.

Jon must have thought the same, giving her only an annoyed look in response. He retrieved the simple white dress that Sansa had lent them and kept his eyes on her face, not yet ready to trouble himself with the beauty of her naked body. “Get this on, we’ll be late,” was all he said as he tossed it to her.

The spat ruined what should have been a momentous ceremony, though they both put on their best face, standing before Jon’s bannermen, each promising to uphold their treaty in letter and spirit, thanking Lady Sansa and the North profusely for their hospitality and the blessing of their love. Sansa spoke of Jon as a child, and their liberation of Winterfell, and their fight against the Others. She told of the first time she met Dany, beautifully reciting a rather tired list of things the world already knew about her greatness.

Once everyone had signed, Jon went to one knee and laid Longclaw at Dany’s feet. She could not help but smile when he rose as King Consort of Westeros and Warden of the North, but even that seemed anticlimactic.

Dany’s demeanor the rest of the evening was pleasant, but stiff and distant. Her back was tense when she knelt before the heart tree in submission to the gods at the end of the ceremony; her submission grudging at best. _The she-bear cornered me into this. This is a lie. The old gods should be thanking ME, for taking their insolent bitch of a son._ But through it all, she kept her promise, keeping her conversation with Lady Sansa to safe courtesies. Part of her hoped Jon would regret forbidding it, but if he did, he gave her no sign. The more sensible part knew he had the right of it.

She was still out of sorts when they returned to her chambers. Irri drew her a bath, but Dany had to dismiss her afterward, lest her presence so late start yet more rumors. When Irri left, the Queen sat near the brazier with Jon on his knees between her legs, shaving her cunt as she’d taught him. Her chin was propped up on one hand, admiring his work but lost in her own mind. When he finished, Jon kissed her softly on her mound. It was sweet, but he still seemed disquieted. _I’m the most powerful woman the world has ever seen, now. I’m no longer ‘Aegon the Conqueror with Teats.’ He’s Daenerys Stormborn with Nothing. Yet here I am, stewing like a petulant cunt. And he’s the most powerful man, afraid to speak his mind._

“Rise.” She pointed toward the chair immediately across from her in front of the brazier. “Sit.”

He sat, looking at her with that pouty face that made her want to swallow his cock whole. _I know, you shaved it and now you want it. It pains you. Patience, boy._

She took his hands in hers. “I’m sorry, my love.”

Jon said nothing in response, but it was plain that he took her meaning and appreciated it.

“You’re my husband, we should be fucking wildly right now. But you were right about Sansa, and I was an utter cunt about it all evening.”

Jon seemed to simply want to move on. “Just don’t tell me to stop you from going too far, then grow wroth when I do.”

“I’ll do better. I owe it to you. Thank you, my love. And please, if I need to be stopped again, stop me. Don't let me be a shit about it.”

Jon nodded, looking relieved that the quarrel was almost over. “I love you, Daenerys.”

“Even when I’m a cunt?” Tentative humor crept back into her voice.

Her husband smiled wryly. “You’re always a cunt. Your head would be on a spike somewhere if you weren’t.”

 _That was oddly sweet._ “Let’s go back to the godswood. Alone. Now,” she said, after a pause. “We should do it again, properly.”

“I claimed you and you took me, that’s as proper as it gets,” Jon replied.

“But what were you thinking about when you knelt before the tree?”

“How long I had to stay there before we could get on with the feast,” he admitted, smiling.

Dany nodded, knowingly, smiling herself. “Of course. You're a man. If there’s a steak or a cunt waiting, you forget everything else. I feel half mad saying this, but if your forebears can truly speak through the weirwood tree, I would seek their blessing.”

Jon looked at her like she’d lost her wits. “Do you want to see Lord Eddard clout me on the ear?”

Dany smiled. “Yes, but that’s an entirely separate matter.” Her smile dissipated. “I mean it, Jon. Even if it’s all a mummer’s trick, it would please me more than you know. You’re my fourth husband, but the first whose forebears were worth honoring.”

Jon laughed to himself. “I’m picturing you as Eddard’s daughter-by-law.” He paused, his grin growing stupider and more irresistible by the second. “And Catelyn. Catelyn would have despised you. Gods, that would’ve made me so, _so_ happy.”

Suddenly she was concerned. “Would Eddard have despised me too?”

“Truly? I’m not certain he would have known what to make of you. You’re a strange one,” he smirked. “Bugger it, let’s go ask him.”

The King and Queen snuck down in roughspun cloaks, to avoid being noticed. The godswood was eerily silent, and warmer than outside, but Dany still felt a chill down her spine. _Why did I insist on this foolishness?_ She knew why, but didn't want to admit the answer, just as she didn't want to admit the simmering terror in her stomach. _Would they have me abdicate? Renounce my claim to the North?_ She pondered how to phrase the offer; whether to lead with something less generous and let them counter; what Tyrion would do were he here.

 _That's it, I've gone mad. The gods don't exist,_ she reminded herself. _I am Daenerys Stormborn, I marry as I please. I don't have to haggle with a tree for him. Were Viserys here, with his endless list of things the Dragon doesn’t do, haggling with trees would certainly be on there._ Then why did she need to do this so badly? Why did this godswood scare her so?

“So quiet,” she whispered to Jon. It was all she could do to stop herself from running back to her chambers, screaming like a child.

“That's how it always is. That's the point,” Jon told her. _Right._ That reassured her, but only slightly. _I've been good to him. He's a man grown. He went into this of his own will. I love him so dearly, don't you see that?_ She beseeched whomever she was supposed to beseech. _Please say you do_.

They reached the weirwood tree, only to find its expression vexingly blank. There were worse possibilities, she supposed, but it gave her no comfort. She reminded herself that she was the blood of the Dragon, _and so forth, and so on_ , but that was no better.

“I’m scared,” she finally admitted.

Jon seemed to know why, but held his tongue. “Let’s sit. Over there,” he pointed to a moss-covered stone, “where my father used to clean his sword.” _He wasn’t your father. My brother was your father._ But this was not the place to correct him. It hurt her that he still thought of himself as a Stark, but something about his refusal to apologize for it, and the way he would sometimes slip like that, made her love him even more.

“What do we do now?” She felt foolish asking.

“We sit here. If they wish to make their presence known, they will.”

The branches of the weirwood were packed with more ravens than Dany had ever seen in one place. One landed in front of them and _quork_ ed. _Did that bird just call me a whore?_ It looked at Jon, then Dany, then Jon again, and again back to Dany, before flying away silently.

Jon took her hand. “You’re pale as a ghost, Dany. Breathe.”

Dany breathed deeply and closed her eyes to calm herself.

“No one truly speaks to anyone here, you know. The tree only sweeps the clutter from your mind. If what’s left disturbs you, that’s between you and yourself, not some Stark who died a thousand years ago.”

Dany nodded silently.

“Does something disturb you?”

“No,” she lied. _That was downright sad. Just ask him._ She paused. _“_ Have I stolen your Kingdom?”

“No,” Jon replied, sounding almost annoyed. “I gave it to you willingly. I fought with mine own bannermen to do it. You could have taken it long ago, in one of those moments of weakness you’re so fond of causing me,” he smiled, “but I wanted their blessing and you insisted I have it.”

He put his other hand over hers, and she put her other hand on top of his.

“Have I enslaved your people?” She felt like she was on trial and had called him as a witness in her defense, as the tree and the ravens sat in judgment.

Jon could not hold back his laugh. “You’ve had them for three hours and no one’s been shackled up yet,” he responded, plainly dangling the bait.

That put a shy smile on her face. _Slut._  “You love me?” She looked into his eyes.

“Of course I do.” If he lied, he hid it well, and he was not the type to hide lies well.

“You love what I’ve made of you?”

“All you’ve made me is a better man, Your Grace. I had always felt out of place wherever I went, until you put me on my knees. Sometimes I almost cry for how long it took me to find my home.”

That almost made Dany cry herself. _Say it louder, so they can hear_. “That was one of the most beautiful things anyone has ever said to me. Sometimes I need you to say these things to me.”

Jon smiled at her. “It's true.” He put his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. She stroked his cheek with one hand. _I said say it louder, bastard!_ She felt the color return to her face.

“Marry me,” she demanded abruptly, growing less fearful that a second ceremony would get her eyes pecked out. “Now.”

Jon seemed to enjoy the notion, but he was hung up on the formalities. “Should we find someone to give you away? Tormund?”

“I’m no one’s to give away,” Dany reminded him. “Certainly not his. And neither are you. We shall do this the way we’ve done it since the night we first fell in love. You give yourself away, and I claim you. Anything else would be another lie to please everyone but ourselves.”

Jon blushed. _Gods, he is beautiful_. She kissed him. One raven of the hundred on the tree _quork_ ed. _I don’t know what that means, and I don’t care_. She pulled his face closer and felt his hands in her hair; his tongue teasing hers. She heard the fluttering of wings and the squawks of a small group of the birds quarreling.

She rose, took Jon’s hand, and pointed. “Kneel by the tree, my love.”

Jon knelt, as he’d done a few hours ago. Dany stood in front of him and lifted her cloak, revealing a simple shirt and woolen breeches. “I stay here. I kneel to no gods, or men, or ghosts. They all owe everything they have to me.”

Jon’s face was a mix of offense and lust. _He lusts because I know what I am, and I’m not afraid of it. I lust for him for the same reason._ She lamented how rare it was for women like her, and men like him, to admit what they were.

Dany began to unlace her breeches. “Say the words. Offer yourself to me.” She stroked his hair gently, but kept her hand on his head so she alone could decide how close to her cunt he’d get.

Jon grabbed Dany’s breeches as soon as they were loose enough to pull down. “Jon, of the House--” Dany’s eyes caught his as he looked up, challenging him. “Snow…” _good answer_ , “...comes here to be wed. He comes to seek the blessings of the gods. Who claims him?”

“Daenerys of House Targaryen. Queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros,” _and all manner of other shit I have no patience for just now._ “I claim him.” She guided his face closer to her cunt. “Who gives him?”

“No one gives me. I give myself. Freely and completely. I need you. Will you take me?”

“I take you.” His mouth went straight to her cunt, starving and parched. She put one leg on his shoulder, and felt behind her back for a comfortable spot on the bark of the tree. Jon sensed it, somehow. He reached up and slid his hands between her back and the tree bark, cushioning her. _That’s right, make me comfortable while I rape your face._ She lifted her other leg, wrapped her thighs tightly around Jon’s head, and grabbed his hair--not to hurt him, or focus his mind, but simply to feel it between her fingers.

It dawned on her that Jon was nearly at eye level with the face of the heart tree he’d prayed to as a boy; his view blocked only by her cunt grinding on his face. _This is what you prayed for, isn’t it?_ That gave her an odd sense of satisfaction, beyond the mere thought of how it must twist his mind. She’d been the answer to the prayers of so many before, but those were just happenstance.

All slaves prayed for freedom from shackles, but Dany liberated them not grant each unique wish, but to reorder the world to her liking. Kings seldom prayed for the reverse, but she found one who did. And because he had been so pure and utterly devoted to her, she decided to answer him. Suddenly the notion that there were gods in the godswood seemed less silly. _I am one._

Her screams tore through the silence. Ravens fluttered on the branches above, but gave her no trouble. Dany could tell it would not take long to reach her peak. Quarrel or none, she’d been craving release since the beatings she’d given, and tree gods or none, she would have it. She could feel her thighs growing wet, as her juices mixed with Jon’s spit and oozed into his eager mouth and back out again. The feeling of her wetness grinding itself into his stubble; her body in the air; his hands on her back; his tongue on her clit, all began to overwhelm her. Her cunt started to pulse, and her eyes rolled back in her head. _Your land is mine, your people are mine, your body is mine, your soul is mine, all of it’s MINE! Bugger the tree, pray to your FUCKING goddess!_ She would have said it, but she was too overtaken with pleasure, so it all melted down into a long, primal, ear-piercing moan at the top of her lungs as she thrust her body against him like she could somehow leave an imprint of her cunt on his face..

When she relaxed her thighs, Jon stood and guided her gently down the tree trunk until she could wrap her legs around his waist. For a man whose eyes would have reached Drogo’s shoulders at best, Jon was surprisingly strong and deft with her, bringing her down swiftly but surely, never causing her to fear he would drop her. Dany took pride in the fact that she needed no one man to make her feel safe; that the hundred thousand sworn to her service would suffice. Yet she had to admit that for all the ways she’d debased him, broken him, and stripped him of what he thought was his manhood, the way he could make her feel like a child bouncing on her father’s knee filled a void inside her that an army of millions could not fill.

But that safety was fleeting. Jon teased her clit with the head of his cock, making her gasp and reach down to slide it into her. But before she could, he slapped her arm away and put his hand on her throat. “ _No_.”

Her eyes widened. _Right. I denied him. He’s wroth with me._ That made her blush, then grin lasciviously.

He set her down and flipped her so her palms were against the trunk of the heart tree, kicked her legs apart, and held her in place with a forearm across her shoulders. The seconds he spent teasing her clit from behind with the fingers of his other hand, then the head of his cock again, felt like an eternity. But she dare not move. _How long can you make me fear you like this, bastard?_ She wagered not long, but when he entered her cunt and grabbed her hair to press the side of her head against the tree, she wondered if she had underestimated him.

“I know what you’re doing here,” he growled into her ear as his hips slapped against her ass. “You mean to defile this place, to make your mark on it.” Dany truly had not thought of that, but the idea filled her with such a thick, dark lust that she realized that whether she remembered thinking it or not, he was right.

“Don’t you?” He asked. Then she felt the sting of his hand on her ass. _“Don’t you!”_ He hit her again.

“Yes!” She gasped. Her body spoke the truth, paying her mind no regard. “Yes!”

That just made him fuck her harder. Faster. “So be it. This land is yours to mark now,” he reminded her, knowing it would tickle her greedy little cunt, “but until I’m done with you, your cunt is _mine_ , and I can leave a mark just as well as you.”

 _Fuck, yes, rape me, sweet nephew. RAPE ME!_ Her screams sounded less like those of a woman and more like a girl. There was a twist of fear and helplessness to them, a vulnerability that she hadn’t felt since she was little more than a cunt for Drogo to dump his seed into at night. She felt Jon’s teeth tear at her neck and suck, lapping up the sweat on her skin with his tongue. She yelped, then gritted her teeth to suppress it, grunted with all her strength, but failed to hold in the pain once her body decided on its own to start slamming itself down and back against his cock.

The shriek she let out was finally enough to set the ravens to _quork_ ing again, and a handful fluttered to the ground. One looked up at her. _Menacing_ , she thought, her mind flickering in and out of coherence every time his cock pounded into her. _No. You're imagining it._ A sudden terror came over her that it would fly up and peck at her nipple as her breasts bounced back and forth with each thrust of his cock.

Suddenly, all she wanted was to feel that pain. “ _Do it!_ ” She growled, before her mind came back. _I’m commanding a bird to bite my nipple, he’s fucking the wits out of me_. She needed this every bit as badly as she needed to beat him earlier.

Jon grabbed her right breast, squeezed, and pinched her nipple. Whether it was pure happenstance, or the bird told him to do it, or it was some trick all the Stark boys learned to scare maidens when they fucked in the woods, it made no matter. “Yes! Yes! Do it! _Rape_ me, bastard! _Breed me!_ ” He slapped her left ass cheek with his other hand before putting it back around her waist. She grunted through the sting. “Hurt me! _Fucking_ hurt me, I command it!” And being the good slave he was, he obeyed.

For years, Dany had assumed that trying to have a child was futile, and until she met Jon, her mind had stopped considering the possibility that her lovemaking would ever lead to it. But now, when she sensed him getting close to taking his pleasure, part of her silently called out to some unknown power, pleading with it to let his seed quicken inside her. Some god, some bloodmage, some sorcerer, somewhere, must hear her. _Please, please, please, let this be the one_. Maybe the old gods would dispel whatever foul magic Mirri Maaz Duur had cursed her with. Maybe if she showed them she could be a good wife for him, a good whore, whatever they wanted of her, they would bless her with his child.

“Plant your bastard seed in me, right here!” She spat, between shallow, rapid breaths. “On Ned Stark’s sacred tree! He lied to you for years, take your revenge!” _That did me no favors with the tree._ She looked up at the ravens. “Watch him make a whore of me! Watch him rape his auntie pregnant!”  _Nor that._  But when she was this deep in the throes of pleasure, her mouth did what it would.

Jon grabbed her hair again, forcing her eyes to stay on the ravens. They looked at her, curiously. Her mouth gaped open and her eyes widened as the madness consumed him, and she felt his pent up seed take over her cunt like his pent up rage had taken over the rest of her. She screamed as he thrust himself as deeply as he could, holding it there, so every last drop would stay inside. _Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, ALL OF IT!_

When he finally released her, both of them could barely support their own weight. Dany used her palms against the tree to slow herself down onto her knees, Jon following behind her, kissing her neck, and her cheek, and behind her ear, more sweetly than violently.

Dany found herself looking up at the face of the heart tree, with the ravens looking down at her from the corner of her eyes. She was kneeling, like she had at the mummer’s farce of a wedding. _A child, please...please!_ She implored it one last time as she caught her breath. She wished she had thought to ask earlier. Its face gave no hints, but deep in her bones, she could tell it knew something.


	9. Irri III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They can live in my new world or they can die in their old one."
> 
> \--Daenerys, _Game of Thrones_ Season 4 Episode 7.

“And when she farts in her sleep and wakes herself up!” Irri exclaimed, through tears of laughter.

Jon guffawed. “ _Hush, bastard!_ ” He mocked a half-conscious Daenerys. “ _This was your doing!_ ”

Irri slapped her leg and cackled, her gut starting to hurt. In all the years she’d been in Dany’s service, Jon was the only other person she could share these things with. No one else knew the Dragon Queen like this, save for some dead men and one or two others halfway across the world. In private, Dany was both odder and more ordinary than the rest of the world saw, and it felt good to know that Irri was not the only one to notice it. She was more grateful every day to her _Khaleesi_ for finding this man, and for sharing him with her. And she was just as grateful to him for being the kind, beautiful, utterly unpretentious man that he was.

Tyrion, Bronn, Gendry, Tormund, and Grey Worm entered the Small Council chamber, stifling their laughter.

“Care to share with the group, Your Grace?” The Hand asked as he took his seat. The words “Your Grace” made her spine straighten, as Irri reminded herself that he could have been addressing her just as much as Jon. It was still disconcerting to be called that, and not “wench,” or worse, or merely to have an empty cup waved silently in her direction. _Maybe after the coronation_.

The morning after she wed Jon in the Winterfell godswood, Dany vowed to Irri that they would wed as quickly as possible thereafter, both to assuage her guilt about not including her in their secret ceremony to begin with, and to deny the rest of the Realm an opportunity to debate whether to allow it. They made haste back to King’s Landing a few days later, departing in the middle of the night on the fastest horses they could find. They made straight for White Harbor with only Dany’s bloodriders to protect them, and sailed on the fastest longship for Dragonstone. Dany disembarked and conferred with Lady Greyjoy on the Royal Fleet’s war preparations, and rode back to the capital on Drogon’s back, so he could defend the city when the time came, and keep the peace during what they all suspected would be a tense interim.

While they were alone for the last leg of the journey by ship, Irri and Jon grew closer. They told each other about their youths, and when they first fell in love with their Queen. And for the first time, they made love without Dany there to direct them. They didn’t tell her about it, but nor did they make an effort to hide it. She would have to be a fool not to notice their greater affection for each other, and she was no fool. She never raised the issue, and smiled sweetly, almost proudly, every time they kissed in front of her. They took that to mean they had her blessing.

From Dragonstone, Dany commanded by raven that Tyrion prepare a small tourney in King’s Landing, meant to approximate a Dothraki wedding as closely as possible without offending Westerosi sensibilities. They married at dawn on the last day, after a brief ceremony in which Aegon finally renounced all titles and claims, and spent the rest of it watching the melee, receiving Irri’s bride gifts, and making love under the stars.

The consorts both took Dany's last name. Whether he liked it or not, it had always been Jon’s true name anyway, and Irri had never had a last name at all. But between them, it was an acknowledgment of the well known truth of who owned whom. All she needed now was to place the crowns on their heads for all the Realm to see.

“We wouldn’t get the joke,” Bronn answered Tyrion. “Serving girls think everything’s funny.” He looked straight at Jon when he said it, smirking like a little shit. The King was no longer amused; nor was she. _He speaks like I’m not even here._ Before, that was simply the way of things. Now, it infuriated her.

“And that’s what she’s making you into, isn’t she, boy?” Tormund smirked. Bronn chuckled.

Before Jon could begin his response, Grey Worm rose and snapped to attention as “she” entered. The rest of them followed Grey Worm’s lead. Tyrion put his hands on the table and slid forward, barely pretending anymore that he would make it to his feet in time.

Dany motioned for them to sit, and took her own seat at the head of the table. She gave them all a curious raised eyebrow, sensing that they had been joking, but uncertain who was the butt. She decided not to ask.

She turned right to Tyrion. “The wildfire?” _Pay attention, you must know these things now,_ Irri reminded herself.

“The pyromancers are making as much as they can, Your Grace,” Tyrion replied. “It will do heavy damage, but they’ve got thrice the ships Stannis had, and Stannis came dangerously close to taking the city. Even with the dragons and the wildfire, we should assume they will land a very large force.”

“Rhaegal and Viserion will drop it on their ships from above, while Drogon burns whoever they land on the beach,” Grey Worm added.

Dany nodded. “Very good.”

Jon and Grey Worm were the only men she trusted to prepare her children for war. They sensed Jon’s blood and bonded with him almost instantly, and they knew the high regard their mother had for the eunuch. They knew Irri as well, and that Dany loved her, so they had always been friendly. But their favorite was Tyrion, who was widely suspected to smuggle entire wagons of bacon to them. Irri sensed there was a lesson in governing there.

“Lord Willas has been most generous with the food supply,” Tyrion continued, “though he bleats about it, as one would expect. You should make a point of receiving him privately when he's here for the coronations.”

Dany sighed. “He’ll have plenty of time to bleat when he's chained to the hold of a Volantene cog, but very well.”

Bronn leaned over to Tormund. “Find His Grace a nice Volantene cog. He might enjoy a good bleat.”

Tormund giggled. The rest kept silent, as their duties required a tongue.

Dany’s eyes shot Bronn a look before turning back to her Hand. “And the coronations?”

“The High Septon is as wroth as it gets,” Tyrion cautioned.

“Good.” She smiled.

Dany’s two weddings--one to her nephew, one to a woman, and neither in the light of the Seven--had offended the High Septon grievously.

“He stops short of calling for open rebellion, as he’s recently purchased a new Crystal Crown and needs his head to enjoy it,” Tyrion explained, “but he takes every chance he gets to make thinly-veiled condemnations of your blasphemies.”

“But I love my blasphemies,” she flashed a wry grin.

“As do we all, Your Grace.” Tyrion smiled at Irri. “I know you plan to be rid of him soon, but I suggest you do it before his words reach too many ears,” Tyrion warned, pausing. “And I assume you’ve thought of this, but if your plan involves some spectacular fire at the Sept of Baelor, some may compare you to my sister. I don’t mean to question you, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention it.”

Dany rolled her eyes. “I’m aware, my lord.” She turned to Irri. “Sweetling, tell him your plan.” Irri looked at her nervously, but Dany’s eyes gave her an impatient encouragement. “He’s yours to command, so command him.”

Irri began tentatively, despite earlier assurances that this was as good a plan as she or anyone else could conceive. “This man preaches virtue, but he frequents brothels in secret.” She explained, in her soft, sweet, accented voice.

“Like I frequent my wine cup, Your Grace,” Tyrion confirmed, guiding her like a child learning to ride a pony. _‘Your Grace’ is me_. It still felt strange.

“Littlefinger had a brothel,” she went on. “Now he’s dead. Raid his brothel and take the ledgers. Learn this man's perversions, and what he spends on them. Tell him to leave the city or we’ll make them known. And when he leaves, we will turn the sept into a shrine where anyone can worship any god they wish.” _There is only one god, and she’s sitting next to you._

Dany beamed proudly and kissed her on the temple. Irri blushed as Dany ran a hand up her thigh under the table.

Tyrion smiled, genuinely impressed. “At once, Your Grace. We should do this before the smallfolk start fleeing the siege.”

Dany smiled. “Were you planning to hold court today, Lord Tyrion?”

“One of your more tedious cases, yes, Your Grace.”

“Perfect. We’ll do it today.” Dany rose. “Lord Gendry, have the Goldcloaks retrieve the ledgers, then pull the High Septon out of whatever boywhore he’s rutting and bring him to court. The rest of you, plan my war while I deal with this fool. Sweetling, come with me.” Irri rose to follow her Queen.

Dany and Irri strode toward the door, but Dany stopped when they reached her Queensguard at the threshold. “Cells for the two who mocked the King,” she commanded them, pointing toward Bronn and Tormund. “Let them have a good bleat. They might enjoy one.”

It took both guards and Gendry to subdue the Wildling, but Grey Worm had the sellsword’s own dagger at his throat in an instant. Bronn shot Tyrion a shocked look as he was being gagged, which Tyrion passed to Dany on his friend’s behalf.

“And another for the Hand, if he’d care to join,” she added.

“The Hand does not care to join, Your Grace.” Tyrion’s eyes found Dany’s and signaled his acquiescence.

Dany and Irri entered the Throne Room through the side door, silent and unnoticed. The petitioners milled about, chattering. Dany seemed greatly pleased that no one saw her. She held Irri’s hands, kissed her, then bit her lower lip and tugged, with a sublime malice in her eyes, before trotting up the steps to her Throne.

“Shall I fetch the girl to do the titles?!” Dany shouted, almost playfully, as she neared the top. Chattering stopped abruptly. Elbows nudged arms, heads turned, and eyes widened. “Or do you know who I am?”

The room knelt as Dany’s divine ass hit the Throne. “Rise.” She crossed her legs and paused for them. Irri sat near the base of the steps. “I'm afraid Lord Tyrion is ill this morning, so I must rule in his stead.” Her eyes dared the room to laugh. “Shall we begin?”

Two petty lords stepped forward, one demanding recompense from the other for damming a river that flooded his copper mine.

Dany took her time with them, starting with pointless minutiae about the mine, then letting the questions grow more and more abstract until they were debating high-minded notions about the essence of justice itself. She asked how he defined trespassing, and whether an accidental flood should count. She asked whether anyone could have foreseen the flood, and whether that should matter. She asked how he could truly know how much coin he lost if he didn’t know how much copper was left in the mine, or what its value would have been by the time he managed to sell it.

She said the words “why,” and “but did you not just say,” so many times that Irri lost count, and when his argument collapsed under its own weight she smiled, took a fig from her fruit plate, and subjected the second lord to the same torture. _Only a twisted mind would enjoy this_. Yet something intrigued her about it.

As the second lord blathered on, Dany spotted the High Septon enter through the back, in his best robes and Crystal Crown. Through the side door came Tyrion, flanked by three Goldcloaks, each holding massive stacks of books. He nodded, to signal he’d found what he needed. Suddenly, Dany realized she was out of figs.

“I’ll pay for it out of the Crown’s coffers,” she cut off the lord. “You may go, both of you.” Dany waved them away, politely but impatiently, and called forth the High Septon. _Old and plump, like they all are._

“Your High Holiness, how many men do you have at the Sept of Baelor?”

“Fifty, Your Grace.”

Dany nodded. “Lord Tyrion, have the stables prepare horses and wagons for fifty men and their possessions,” she commanded. “But not too many possessions. They've taken a vow of modesty.”

“I take it my men and I are going somewhere?” The High Septon asked impatiently.

“You are, my lord.” She smiled.

“And where is that?”

“Wherever you wish, so long as you leave by dawn. I'm taking your sept.”

The High Septon seemed angered but not surprised. “You would breach a sacred vow your forebears made.”

“My forebears are all dead, and so is their Realm. The world has changed, my lord. I've brought people with me who worship gods beyond count. I will finish rebuilding the sept as a place where they can pray to their gods freely. Tree gods, drowned gods, horse gods,” she paused and grinned, “me.”

The High Septon scoffed. “You. Of course. That's what this has always been about for you, hasn't it? Do some firemage tricks and declare yourself a goddess?” _She needs no declarations, only witnesses._ “I hate to disappoint Your Grace, but the common people will never pray to a foreign whore.”

Dany paused for a moment and laughed at the man who just signed his own death warrant. “Someone told me once that the common people pray for rain, healthy children, and a summer that never ends,” Dany replied. “I can’t promise that, but I’ve given them freedom from shackles and a spring that would not have come at all but for me, my husband, and my children. _You’ve_ given them the privilege of buying you a hat that looks like a shiny glass cock. If you were the common people, who would you pray to?” _One day, all the world will pray to her._

“And if I refuse, you’ll burn my sept down. Like Cersei Lannister. You know _so little_ about the Realm you claim to rule,”

Dany smiled. “If I burn anything, I promise you I won’t be sipping wine on a balcony when I do it,” she threatened, softly, reminding him who she was. “But I won’t need to. I’m only a young girl, and as you said, I know so little about the Realm. So I sent for some books, from Lord Baelish’s brothel.” She turned to Tyrion. “My lord Hand.”

“Your Grace.”

“Teach me something.”

“The High Septon once paid for a woman to dress as a red priestess, shit in a bowl, and spoonfeed it to him while some oarsmen from the Summer Isles took turns with his ass,” he proclaimed.

Dany grinned wickedly and mockingly fanned herself. “I feel more educated already.”

“The part about the swaddling clothes will earn you a maester’s chain,” Tyrion quipped.

“Young girls are terrible at sums, as well. How much of the smallfolk’s coin has he spent on this?”

“Forty thousand gold dragons since he first donned the Crystal Crown, Your Grace.”

She raised an eyebrow at the High Septon and smiled triumphantly.

Tyrion turned to him. “The Crone, in her wisdom, has commanded you to welcome those who keep other gods, because doing otherwise would cause needless bloodshed. She has further commanded you to not just renounce but abolish your title, leave the decadence of King’s Landing, and minister to the poor. The Queen was loath to see you go, but admires your devotion to the Realm, and you thank her for her promise to rebuild the sept as a place where all can worship peacefully. Leave by dawn, and we’ll burn these books. Refuse, and we’ll invite the whole city to read them.”

The dragon banner hung over the entrance to the sept the next day, and a date for the coronation was set.

Irri barely slept the night before the ceremony. She woke to a blurry, silver-haired figure gently poking at her shoulder. _Please, not today, Khaleesi. Jon can pleasure you, he snored all night._ But as her vision came into focus, she realized it was the other silver-haired figure, not the one she should concern herself with. _He is a terrible handmaiden._ She swatted at him and rolled over. _That felt good_ , she thought, as she faded back out of consciousness. She opened her eyes again, to find him carefully setting a tray of fruit across her lap. _Much better_.

Today, Dany was to grant her the titles Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms, Princess of Summerhall, and _Khaleesi_ of the Great Grass Sea. In truth, there was not much left in the Great Grass Sea to rule over, and the few Dothraki left were well beyond the Throne’s influence. Still, it weighed on her. _I am not Irri, the girl who pours wine anymore. I am Irri of the House Targaryen, the First of My Name._ One day, Daenerys may permit her to give Jon a child, with the blood of the Dragon, and the name to accompany it. _The weight isn’t fear_ , she realized. _It’s duty._

“Dress me,” she commanded Aegon, as she finished her fruit plate and rose from the bed. Her voice brooked no argument. _I must maintain a regal bearing,_ she knew, _especially in front of men like him._ So she did, and he dressed her, and they left.

She stepped out onto the steps of the roofless, half-rebuilt sept, dressed in white linen embroidered with gold. At the top of the steps were two chairs where she and Jon would sit as they were crowned. Irri was convinced she would get an arrow between the eyes as soon as she came into view of the crowd, but the dragons circling above, and the guards swarming the plaza like flies on a corpse, must have deterred her assassin. Her reception was warmer than expected--only one or two shouts of “whore!” or “savage!”

Jon entered next, to wild cheers that seemed to go forever. _They all owe him their lives_ , she knew _._ Yet Jon barely acknowledged them beyond a nod and an irresistible half smile. _If the crowd were all women, they’d be ankle-deep in cunt juice._ But he wasn’t theirs. _He’s mine...Dany’s first,_ she reminded herself, _but mine, too_. She looked over at him. _Mine._

Lining the side of the stage were all manner of nobles from every corner of the Realm. The two consorts sat, and Dany entered and stood in front of them, to the loudest cheers of all. _Dragons overhead will do that for her_. She let them cheer for a moment, before gesturing for them to quiet down. “I am truly honored that so many of you have come to celebrate this occasion with me!” She shouted, “But before we begin, I must address an urgent matter of state.”

Two guards dragged Tormund Giantsbane onto the stage shackled and gagged, and pushed him to his knees in front of Jon, facing the crowd. Davos Seaworth entered behind them with a wooden block, set it down in front of the Wildling, and took to his place among the nobles. Tormund’s face was hard, resigned to his fate but clinging to his dignity.

As Irri realized what was happening, two more guards dragged Bronn before Irri. Behind him came a stew pot hanging over a brazier, which Dany’s bloodrider Jhogo promptly lit, before dumping a large sack of gold coins into the pot. Bronn stared straight ahead, fear bleeding through his usual flippant smirk. Dany looked back and nodded, to confirm what it meant. _She’d have ME do this?! I can’t…_ But Irri had thought that before, and been wrong.

“Some have suggested that my love for my consorts is an affront to the gods,” Dany began, in the voice she used when she wanted to fill a crowd with bloodlust. “Or that their love for me makes them weak. Some have even mocked them. _And me_.” Irri looked over at Jon, trying to hide the terror on her face. But Jon’s face was as hard as Tormund’s.

“But this man, and this woman, have a strength within them just as great as the fiercest warrior here,” Dany continued. _You could have told me about this. You could have prepared me._ Though she knew by now that Dany didn't do things that way. _I don’t know if I have the strength you’re promising them._

“Some of you may question their fitness to rule,” she went on. “So before the crowns touch their heads, they shall dispel those doubts for good and all.” Irri took a slow, deep breath. _She believes I’m fit to rule._ It was an odd way of showing it; a way only Daenerys Targaryen would conceive, but that only strengthened the sudden resolve that had built up in Irri’s gut. If Dany thought her ready, who was she to question her? _No one._

Dany pointed at both prisoners. “These men have mocked and slandered my love. That is _treason_ , just as much as taking up arms against me.” The crowd was silent with fear.

“Kill the traitors!” Some voice in the crowd shouted. Others gradually took up his call.

“And today,” she continued, “they will face justice. Not at my hand, but at the hands of those they mocked.” A hesitant cheer went out.

Dany motioned for Jon and Irri to rise and step forward. _You can’t tremble. You can’t hesitate._ Jon seemed to move so gracefully. Irri closed her eyes just long enough to breathe and collect her thoughts.

“I will help you pour, _Khaleesi_ ,” Jhogo whispered as she reached the stew pot. _This is my first act as a_ Khaleesi. _I cannot fail in this._

Dany turned to the King. “Lord Eddard Stark died on these very steps at the command of a false King. Swing the sword yourself, in honor of your uncle, as a true King should.”

A tear ran down Jon’s cheek as he nodded at his Queen. He said some words that Irri assumed his uncle would have said. Longclaw went seamlessly from its sheath to above his head to the wood of the block, digging itself in as the Wildling’s head rolled forward and bounced to the edge of the step. Blood shot from his neck as Dany grabbed his head and held it up for the cheering crowd, before handing it to her Queensguard. _They’re not cheering for justice,_ Irri realized. _They’re cheering for blood._

Dany turned to Irri, trapping her eyes before she could let the fear force her to look away. “Irri, my love, you have all the strength within you of any Great _Khal_ , and in a moment, you will make that plain to the world. Do to this man as my sun and stars did to my brother.” _I will not let your words ring false_ , Khaleesi.

Irri looked at Jhogo, and grabbed one pot handle as he took the other. Jhogo’s strength did most of the work, but Irri’s hand was steady and sure as the gold trickled off the edge.

She kept her eyes on the lip of the pot, preferring not to dwell on the gold eating through the sellsword’s scalp and skull, but it was impossible to miss. She heard a sizzle, a squeal, and shrieks from the crowd that turned into raucous cheering. _They would just as soon cheer for me to die like this._ Some noblewoman fainted, but Irri could not bother to look. _She is weak_. _I can’t concern myself with the weak until this is done._ She assumed it was done when the agonized screaming stopped. Jhogo looked over and confirmed, and they set the pot down.

Her face was every bit as stony as Jon’s had been as she scanned the crowd. _Fear. Good._ She took no satisfaction from that, but she was a Queen now, and she needed men to fear her. _You're either the butcher or the meat_ , she remembered Dany telling her once.

“Let it be known to all the Realm that my consorts did this with their own hands,” Dany proclaimed as the sellsword’s corpse twitched at Irri’s feet. “They are royalty in their own right! They are my heirs! They shall receive the same courtesy and deference as me, or _they_ will mete out justice as _they_ see fit!” From above, Drogon let out a brief roar and a flame for emphasis.

“Anyone who objects may step forward now and make their case.” No one moved.

While Dany said some customary words, Irri felt the presence behind her of the woman who would place the crown on her head, one of the few _dosh khaleen_ who knew from the start that Dany’s true place was not among them. The crown was gold with copper tips and a thin band of almond-shaped onyx stones lining the base, to match her eyes. Larger stones in the front were cut in the shape of the rearing stallions of Vaes Dothrak’s Horse Gate, with the three-headed dragon in rubies between them.

Behind Jon stood the Lady of Winterfell herself, effectively renouncing any claim to his titles. Dany had sent her a beautifully worded invitation reiterating her deep admiration and gratitude for her hospitality. But it was Tyrion who secured her attendance, promising Lyanna Mormont that the Crown would build a shipyard on Bear Island in exchange for her promise to insist that Sansa accept. _Bears love bacon as much as dragons_ , Irri learned from that.

Jon’s crown was simple, almost austere, like the rest of him. It was modeled on his cousin Robb’s, wrought in bronze, with iron spikes, and runes of the First Men along the base. In every second gap between spikes was a large ruby, styled after the Conqueror’s crown, to represent the other half of Jon’s blood and the place he would hold in history.

Irri had always been told that crowns were heavy, and she found it to be true, but she surprised herself with how well she reacted when it finally settled on her head. There was no flinching, no startled crooking of her neck, no urge to adjust it. She couldn't say it felt natural, but it was less terrifying than she expected.

It was over that quickly. “Long may they reign!” Dany boomed, her tone a mix of pride, elation, and one last threat to anyone who would challenge her. The nobles echoed, and the smallfolk erupted in cheers. Irri felt exactly the same as she did a few seconds ago. _Of course you do_ , she reminded herself. _Why would you think otherwise?_

Next came what seemed like an eternity of being knelt to, kissed on the hand, and begged for things that no lord would have the gall to beg of Dany. To Tyrion’s credit, he prepared her well. He told her who would ask for what, which requests to grant and which to prevaricate on, and what to say if her mind went blank. He helped her practice pretending to be a thousand different lords, kneeling before her, saying what they were like to say, then turning around and kneeling again as someone else.

She suspected the absurdity was intentional. These men scared her. They had been nobles all their lives, and their forebears for thousands of years before them. She was born of a long-forgotten rape in the dirt somewhere, and had been their Queen for half an hour. But as they knelt, their eyes looking up and taking her measure, all she saw were drunk dwarves with silly voices. She was glad when it ended, but confident that she started fewer wars than she could have.

The feast in the hall of the Red Keep was the best part, as Dany had demanded that it feature a dish from each of the Seven Kingdoms. That meant Dornish food, which actually tasted like something, which Irri found maddeningly rare in Westeros. She ate enough of everything else to be polite, saving room to be outright shameless about the spiced lamb and dragon peppers.

Lady Stark looked at her sideways as she grabbed a serving man’s spoon and dumped half his peppers onto her plate. The look she gave back would have made Drogon flinch. _It’s my coronation, and if you look at me like that again, I will eat every fucking pepper in this room._

She gaped, dumbstruck, like a babe torn from her mother’s teat when they took her plate away and replaced it with some bland pie from the Riverlands. Dany watched the whole spectacle and smiled adoringly. _That made her cunt tingle. She planned it that way, I’d wager my crown on it._ That made her own cunt tingle, which helped her through the pie. The pie, however, did her in for the evening.

“Teach him how to pour like a proper serving girl,” Dany had instructed her consorts as they broke their fast the next morning, before she left to receive Lord Willas in private. But pouring wine was simple, and Aegon was already quite proficient. Instead, Irri took it upon herself to give Jon another lesson in how to let a man suck his cock, and who decides when and how he takes his pleasure.

“Slowly, boy,” she warned the former King, sweetly, kneeling next to him near the breakfast table as she guided his head onto the true King’s cock. Jon’s hands reflexively reached for his silver hair, but Irri swatted them away. “Don’t let him tell you fast to go. Keep him powerless.” She grinned up at Jon.

Aegon nodded eagerly. If he wanted to, Jon could fuck this boy’s mouth and spill his seed down his throat in an instant, and more like than not, Aegon would love it. But Irri wouldn’t, and that was all that mattered now.

Of late, she had grown obsessed with the rush of power she got from denying a man his pleasure--Jon, Aegon, the countless Dothraki she would flirt with in the halls of the Red Keep with no intention of taking them to bed. For so long she had been taught to give most anyone anything they wanted without complaint, even her body. Now, save for Dany, no one so much as looked at her without her invitation, which she could grant or rescind as she alone saw fit.

But before long, she heard the door open. Dany entered and stood over her pile of human chattel, grinning widely and lovingly. _She likes what I’ve done with them_ , Irri sensed. _It pleases her._ That made her blush as she smiled back up at her Queen.

Dany turned her gaze to Jon. Her grin twisted in amusement at his gaped jaw, which she fixed for him with a finger under his chin. She pulled Aegon up by his hair and slapped Jon across the face. “Don’t wear it out, sweet nephew,” she admonished him, not unkindly. She pulled Aegon up to his feet and smacked his ass to propel him in the general direction of the bed. “Sweetling, tie his wrists behind his back. Jon, fetch me my cock.”

Jon rose, lifted his breeches from around his ankles, and lumbered toward the drawer where she kept it, his cock valiantly refusing to be confined. Irri grabbed a rope from the same drawer, then tied the false Dragon’s wrists behind his back as casually as she would saddle a horse.

Dany bent him over the foot of the bed. Jon dangled Dany’s cock by the harness by his finger with one hand, and held his breeches halfway up his thigh with the other hand, unsure what to do with either. Dany laughed, kissed him, and played with his cock.

“Hold still while I get the sculptors, my love. This will be your statue,” she smiled at him as she slid his belt off, folded it in two and pulled the ends apart, grinning eagerly at the _SNAP_.

She looked toward Irri and pointed at the bed. “On your stomach, sweetling. Jon will have your cunt while I beat this boywhore with a real man’s belt and teach him how it feels to be properly fucked.”

Her wetness already coating her thighs, Irri hopped on the bed and positioned her cunt for Jon to mount her. She faced Aegon, as she knew her _Khaleesi_ would want. They were both on their elbows, close enough to kiss if they wanted to. _Your lips will never touch mine,_ her eyes reminded him, chasing his downward and away from her.

“Strip me,” the Queen commanded Jon, lifting her arms above her head while she kicked her boots off. He pulled off her tunic and unlaced her breeches while she peeled a sock off of her foot and shoved it in his face, startling him. “Oh, you love it, bastard,” she teased.

“I do, Your Grace,” he smiled and blushed.

“This one loves it too,” she declared as she struck Aegon’s ass with Jon’s belt, giving him no warning.

Aegon cried out in pain and cursed under his breath.

“Oh, would you rather Jon do it?” She handed Jon the belt. “Hit him!” Jon struck him as strong and sure as he'd executed Tormund at his coronation.

Aegon yelped, as Irri saw his eyes start to water. She still had no desire to kiss him, but she could see the appeal of licking the tears from his face.

“No, then?” She took the belt back and pressed her sock against Jon’s nose once more, harder this time. “Go, fuck her like the Queen she is.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” he said as he climbed onto the bed. _That's right, bastard, be grateful to have my cunt._

“Watch them!” She commanded Aegon, hitting him again. “Did you _ever_ fuck me like that when you were my husband?”

“No, Your Grace,” he answered after a cry of pain, accepting his failure. _Good_ , she thought, as Jon’s cock pounded into her. _One less man lying to himself about what he is._

She looked at Irri. “A Queen fucks who she wants to fuck. If you want the boywhore, he’s yours. Have you ever wanted this man in your bed?”

“No, _Khaleesi_.” Irri panted, her voice growing contemptuous. _They both know the answer, but she wants him to hear it aloud_. “ _Never_.”

“Even when you were a serving girl?” The crack of the belt on Aegon’s ass hurt her ears. “Even when it was an honor to be raped by a King?”

She felt with her mind what she imagined Jon felt with his cock--a raw power to pierce and destroy this man, and an all-consuming urge to do just that. “He was no King, _Khaleesi_ ,” she spat, like she was expelling a foul spirit that had been inside her far too long. “He was a whore.” She gritted her teeth and savored the fear in Aegon’s eyes. _She taught me how to make a man afraid._ “I don’t fuck whores...” She growled and spat in his face. He flinched, then blushed and rolled his eyes back in ecstasy.

That unleashed something in Jon. He pulled her back onto his cock, hard, and she lost her grip on the sheets. Her head dropped as she tried to claw back to where she was, but Jon was fucking her too well.

“So true, my love,” Dany replied, pleased. Irri raised her head, trained like a beast to block out everything else at the sound of her voice, thrilled and humbled to have pleased her. Dany began to coat her cock in oil, stroking it like it was a part of her. “I’ll leave you to enjoy the King,” Dany smiled as she spread Aegon’s cheeks and took him.

Irri could hear Aegon’s moans, and his pain made her cunt squeeze tighter around Jon’s cock. He pulled out of her and flipped her onto her back so he could look into her eyes. _He wants me for himself when he finishes_. It was dangerous to covet Dany’s property, but Irri was engulfed with lust at the notion that he had defied the Mother of Dragons in this subtle way for her, but part of her worried how far this would go. _If anyone can defy her and live, it’s Jon and I._

She put one hand on his throat and pulled his head down toward her. _I will suffer for this_ , she knew, but she couldn’t stop herself. “Don’t look at her. You’re mine now,” she whispered into his ear, biting his earlobe as she released her grip on his neck.

She immediately regretted it, but not enough to stop her from slapping his ass and pulling him deeper into her. _Please let me give you a son, please! Break my will and make me your broodmare. She will never have a child. You NEED one, and only with me._ That was even worse, but Jon was past his tipping point now, and they were fucking too madly to dwell on it. His sweat dripped from his brow onto hers as he reached his peak and filled her with his seed. _Yes, fill me, it’s not hers, it’s MINE, bastard!_ As he finished, he looked over at Dany, satisfied that she was otherwise occupied with Aegon, and ever so softly whispered the words they had both been thinking but hadn’t dared say.

“I love you, too,” Irri mouthed silently as he withdrew, collapsed down next to her, and began to softly kiss her.

Dany withdrew from Aegon and removed her cock, stepped to the side of the bed, and regarded her consorts with an enigmatic half a smirk. _She knows. We were louder than we thought, or it’s some power of hers, but she knows!_ Irri’s heart beat uncomfortably fast, but Her Grace only smiled lovingly. _That means nothing with her_.

Dany kissed her on the forehead and grabbed Aegon by the hair, because it was hers to grab. “Be a good handmaiden and clean up your King’s mess.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” he replied, and positioned himself accordingly.

Irri laid still while Aegon’s soft, clean shaven face nestle itself between her thighs. She ran her fingers through his silver hair and pulled him toward her, feeling Jon’s seed already oozing out of her cunt, not wanting her whore to miss a drop. She looked over and met Jon’s eyes briefly, until Dany mounted his face.

Aegon went about his duties methodically. Slowly. Almost too slowly for her freshly fucked cunt, but she had come to love that about him. He found spots on her that even Dany hadn't found, and remembered them for next time. Jon always brought her to her peak, but genuinely did his best to ensure he'd gotten every drop of seed, not because he was greedy for it, but because that's what he'd been commanded.

When he was King, Aegon grudgingly accepted that he would always be the man Daenerys Stormborn happened to find it in her best interest to marry. But it chafed at him, and he made little effort to hide it. Oddly, though, he seemed much happier once she’d disabused him of the notion that he would ever rule so much as an ant hill so long as she drew breath. _It was not his failure to be her equal that chafed him; it was that he had to try in the first place._

He was like clay; shapeless on his own, but malleable. He liked men, everyone knew, but Irri wondered whether that was simply because a man happened to bed him first. _If he preferred them, he’s fooled my cunt_. Sometimes he would spend hours with his head between her legs; his mouth and tongue prodding her, reacting to her body, giving her what she needed to take her pleasure on her own terms.

Irri admired her brown skin wrapped around Aegon’s pale face and platinum hair. Her muscles bulged a bit when she tightened her grip. She came to Dany ostensibly to teach her how to ride, and still made a point of riding as much as she could. But it was only when Dany raised her from a handmaiden to a Queen that she found time to ride for its own sake. It made her thighs firm and strong, and men like Aegon felt more like prey.

The tighter she closed her legs, the more enraptured he became. The more she demanded of him, the more eager, passionate, and deeper in awe of her he grew.

When she first met Aegon, she worried he would steal Daenerys from her, while she poured their wine and washed the sheets they fucked on. For all she knew, Dany would fall in love with him and dismiss her. Or let him rape her if he commanded it, to keep the peace in the marriage that held her Realm together. The best Irri hoped was that he would leave Dany alone often enough that they could nurture their love in secret. That they could tell enough lies and hide well enough to keep their heads.

Now, _he_ poured the wine. He washed the sheets. And Dany reminded him daily that it would never again be how it was. He was at the mercy of their whims, and their satisfaction with him. _His_ place in the world, not hers, was to live with the constant shame and fear that came with being expandable.

 _Daenerys made this world for me as much as for herself_ , Irri realized. _Another gift._ For all the lustful talk about how her pleasure was all that mattered, and for all her excesses, and her moods that swept up the whole world with them, Dany had put her name and her crown and her life at risk to give her a gift that no one else in the world could give her. In that moment, as she felt the pleasure building inside of her, Irri could not imagine anyone loving anyone more deeply than she loved her _Khaleesi_.

Guilt about her greed for Jon washed over her, but the pleasure washed it away just as quickly. She screamed and bucked her hips wildly as she took her pleasure from the King-turned-boywhore’s tongue and mouth and face, tightening her legs until his soft grunts of pleasure turned into panicked, muffled cries for mercy, drowned in the juices of her cunt.

When she was done, she pressed her feet against his shoulders and pushed him away from her. He did not resist, or climb on top of her to take his own pleasure, but merely slid back, gently took one foot in his hand and kissed her lovingly on the sole, then the other, like a man--an equal--would have kissed her on the brow after he fucked her.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” he said, humbly, sincerely. She pushed her foot into his face because that was more generous than he deserved, and he showed his gratitude appropriately.

Dany looked down at her, rocking her hips and dragging her cunt over Jon’s mouth. “Did he fuck you well, sweetling?” She asked, smiling, the pleasure clearly building inside her.

“So well, _Khaleesi_.”

“Good.” She smiled and paused. “I trust you demand nothing less of him when you’re alone.” She pinched Irri’s face between her thumb and forefinger. “You didn’t think I couldn’t tell, did you?”

Irri’s eyes widened and fled from Dany’s. “No, _Khaleesi_ ,” she said timidly, fearfully.

“But you should have told me regardless. You know that.”

Shame flooded Irri’s face. She nodded.

Dany slapped her. “You’re a _Queen_ now. This is no longer a game. This is _the_ game. Run off with some foreign bastard King before, and it’s gossip. Destroy the marriages I turned the Realm upside down to make possible, and it’s war.” It suddenly hit her, harder than it ever had before.

She slapped her again. “We have a massive fleet coming for us.” And again, thrusting her hips, riding Jon’s face harder and harder. She seemed to take pleasure in the scolding. “And all manner of fanatics who will still try to tear us apart.” Once again, harder. “Would you prove them right?” _No, no, no,_ Khaleesi. _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._ She winced at the next one. “Would you make me seem a fool?!”

“No, _Khaleesi!_ ”

Dany grabbed Jon by the hair and clenched it in her fist. She closed her eyes and threw her head back, taking her pleasure from him, screaming, grinding her cunt hard on his face; a warning that he had just as much to answer for. As she finished, she eyed Irri with a disdainful lust, growling softly as she caught her breath.

“Do you want to make yourself the savage whore who destroyed the union that saved the Realm?!” She asked as she dismounted Jon and retrieved a bar with shackles on either end from under the bed.

“No! No, _Khaleesi,_ please, I’m so sorry! Please!”

Dany looked at Aegon, pointing across the room. “Kneel in the far corner. This doesn’t concern you.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” He climbed off the bed and scurried off.

She slapped Jon across the face. “Get up.”

Jon rose hurriedly, feeling the need to explain himself. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. I thought--”

“You _thought._ That never turns out well for you, does it, bastard?” He looked at her, ashamed. She handed him the bar. “Bind her ankles.”

Irri squirmed as Jon hesitated. She drew her ankle away reflexively.

Dany would have none of it. Not today. “If you love her, give her what she needs. _Bind them!_ ”

Jon snatched her ankle before it got away. Irri gasped and whimpered as the metal cuff closed around her.

“Good, now the other.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Jon climbed onto the mattress, holding the bar as Irri fought to keep her free ankle away from him. _Why am I fighting this?_ The answer came to her. _Because I love to._ It would hurt that much more if she tried to fight it first. And she needed it to hurt. _Please,_ Khaleesi, _set me to right_.

Dany grabbed her wrists and bound them with the rope she’d used on Aegon, and held them down above her head.

Irri writhed and kicked, sliding her free ankle under her ass, thrashing her other leg wildly, making Jon struggle to keep his grip on the bar. She felt Dany’s knees lock her head between them. “No, no, please!” She cried, but her mind thought otherwise. _Make him hurt me,_ Khaleesi. _Teach us! Purge us of our insolence!_

Jon managed to pry wrangle her second ankle into the cuff, grunting in frustration as it locked in place. He looked at her, almost sadly. She suddenly realized just how terrifying it was to not be able to close her legs. _My cunt is her property_ , she reminded herself. _Closing my legs is a privilege._

“Hush, slut.” Dany slid a finger into her mouth. Like a babe, she closed her eyes and sucked. Not to please her Queen, or to imagine a cock, but because suddenly, it was all she knew how to do. _So peaceful,_  was the last thought she remembered as her body went limp.

It suddenly felt pitch black, even though she knew it was mid-day. She felt herself become nothing more than a body--a small, beautiful body for Daenerys Stormborn to reign over. Every thought born of her own mind simply melted away, into a puddle on the sheets.

“Much better,” she heard Dany say. _Much better_ , her mind repeated, not daring to form a thought beyond what Her Grace allowed.

Irri could not say how long Dany held it there, but she felt like she’d lost a part of herself when it came out. Her lips and tongue reached into the air for it, weakly.

“Switch with me, bastard. Keep her wrists still and hold the bar. Keep her legs in the air for me,” Dany commanded.

“Yes, Your Grace.” They switched.

A lump formed in her throat as Dany snapped the belt and moved between Irri’s legs. She dreaded what would happen, but knew she needed it. _Ruin my cunt,_ Khaleesi, _please. It’s yours and no one else’s. See how wet it grows when you hurt it; when I suffer for you._ Tears welled in her eyes before anything even happened. _All I hope for with all my being is that it will please you to torture my savage slave cunt._

Jon knelt where Dany had been, pinning her hands above her head with his knees and holding the bar.

“Open your eyes, cunt. Look at me.” The belt hit her cunt before she could read the look in Dany’s eyes. Irri screamed and sucked her breath through her teeth. The sting felt like a venomous bite. Her cunt was sore and sensitive already, from and a warm, pained tingling spread through it. She closed her eyes again, flinching, and immediately felt ashamed of herself for it. _I’m sorry,_ Khaleesi, _that was out of weakness, I’m so sorry._

“Hit her.” Before she knew what Her Grace meant, Jon’s hand hit the side of her face. Not his hardest, but hard enough to hurt, and to satisfy the Queen. _He will not be merciful. He fears her as much as I do._ The slap served its purpose, and Dany’s violet eyes locked hers firmly in their place.

The belt hit her cunt again. “I said _look at me!_ ”

“I’m sorry, _Khaleesi_ ,” her voice quivered. _Please, make me sob._

Dany’s eyes narrowed. “Yesterday, you wore your crown and had a feast.” She belted her cunt again. Irri squealed. “But ruling is more than that. You should know that by now, or are you truly that stupid?!” Her thighs quivered as the belt hit her again. She felt her legs growing weak.

Jon pulled the bar back toward her head. She looked up at him, _‘What else can I do?’_ His eyes asked her. _Nothing, my love. Thank you for this._

“I know, _Khaleesi_!” She pleaded. “I do! I’m sorry, _Khaleesi_!” This was the harshest Dany had been since she nearly killed her, but Irri felt a strange certainty that she was safe. Jon would protect her, but it wasn’t even that. _She’s hurting me for my sake, not hers._

“ _This_ is what being a Queen is like.” The first few lashes came from Dany’s forearm, and her wrist. This time, she put her shoulder into it. “The whole _world_ wants to see your cunt,” she hit her again, just as hard, “and tell you what to do with it.”

“Please, _Khaleesi!_ Show me! I love you! I love you! _Teach your insolent whore!_ ”

Dany smiled. “Stroke her hair,” she commanded Jon. “She knows what she is. Reward her.”

Jon brushed his fingers against her temple and through her hair. It soothed her, giving her strength to suffer through the pain she knew was coming.

Dany must have seen it in her eyes, because for all the strength she gained, Her Grace gave her that much more pain to match it. The next lash was brutal. “I have no quarrel with you two being in love,” she explained casually, as Irri fought futilely to free her arms so she could reach down and cover her cunt. Her body wanted nothing else, but her _Khaleesi_ ’s will was more powerful than anything she could muster. “I _want_ you in love.” Another lash. “I love both of you deeply.” And another. “I want to share that with you.” And another. “It’s too blissful to keep to myself.” The pain of the next lash, and the overwhelming beauty of what Daenerys just said, finally gave Irri the answer to her prayer. She broke down sobbing.

Irri noticed the pace of Dany’s belting had broken. _Mercy?_ She wasn’t certain she was ready for mercy yet, or deserving. Through the blur of the tears, she saw her _Khaleesi_ kneeling just where she was; her belt in one hand, and the other between her thighs.

“You are so beautiful when you sob,” Dany said, as sincere and lovingly as anything she had ever told her. _I love when my pain makes her touch herself._ Irri wanted to finish her with her mouth, but she hadn’t earned that yet. “Sob some more for me, slut.” Dany hit her again. Her back arched and she screamed and shook so hard that Jon had to grip the bar with both hands to keep his hold.

“ _Sob_ for how much you love our husband!” Another lash. “And _sob_ for how much he loves you.” Her cunt was starting to pulse from the pain. “ _Sob_ for our love! We are _one_ House now!” She screamed, as the gravity hit her for the first time, just as the belt hit her again. “And _one_ House has _one_ head!”

Irri nodded, desperately hoping Dany saw she was learning, profoundly grateful for the lesson.

“Who do you suppose that is?!” Dany asked. “The one battering your cunt for your insolence, or the one holding you there in silence?!”

Somewhere in Irri’s mind, she knew the proper response in the Common Tongue was “the former,” but she’d been beaten far too hard to form the words. Instead, all she did was wail.

Dany stood up on the mattress and pulled Irri’s bar up with her. “Stand, bastard, I’m not done.”  
“Yes, Your Grace.” If he’d ever thought of resisting her, that was long gone.

Dany took a step back, to make each stroke more forceful. Jon positioned the bar so each blow his Queen struck would be the most painful.

The questions came twice as fast; each with a lash. “ _Who_ owns your cunt?!”

“You do, _Khaleesi!_ ” Those words needed no thought.

“Who else?!”

“No one, _Khaleesi!_ Only you!”

“Who owns the rest of you?!”

“You, _Khaleesi!_ _ONLY_ you!”

“Who owns the King?! Do you?!”

“No, _Khaleesi!_ I own nothing! Everything I will ever have is yours!”

“Who owns _him?! Who owns his cock?!_ ”

“You, _Khaleesi!_ ” It finally became too much. “Please, please, only you, _Khaleesi!_ No more! Please!’

Dany took a deep breath and tossed the belt aside. “Drop her,” she commanded Jon. Irri’s legs fell to the mattress, her breath fast and heavy as her tears slowly. She wanted to curl into the fetal position and finish her sob, but the bar precluded it. Dany snapped her fingers and pointed to the floor by the foot of the bed. “Stand.” That was all Jon needed.

She laid down next to Irri and smiled into her eyes, stroking her face and hair like they’d just made love. Kissing her, softly, slowly, sweetly. “Hush, sweetling. It’s alright. You pleased me greatly.” Dany slid her finger into her mouth once again. “Suck.”

The pain stopped feeling like pain, and she felt like she was floating.

“You learned everything I meant to teach you. You’re a strong little slut. A brave one. I’ve never been prouder.”

Irri simply nodded. Her body relaxed again. The bar still held her ankles apart, but she would rather it stay there than leave the blissful peace that her total surrender to Daenerys Stormborn had created.

“Never.” Dany kissed her again, running a hand between her breasts and down her stomach. “Are you sore, sweetling?”

Irri nodded firmly, her tears drying up.

“My poor slut,” she whispered. “But you know I had to teach you, yes? That’s what it means to be a Queen. You suffer through every minute, but you would die before you give it up. We still have enemies. We must stay together, and keep no secrets. We must be strong. And if nothing else, you learned how strong you can be.”

She nodded a third time, ready to cry again, from pure awe at what this woman meant to her.

Dany removed her finger and rotated the bar. The rest of Irri’s body followed suit, and she rolled onto her stomach. She opened her eyes and saw Jon’s hard cock in front of her. He was stroking it, slowly, patiently.

“A reward, for being so good today, sweetling.”

Irri could feel her mouth water, her energy and her will returning. “Thank you, _Khaleesi._ ”

“Suck our husband’s cock.”

Still too drained to do much else, but eager nonetheless, she took Jon’s cock into her mouth and felt his hands on the back of her head. She moaned onto it softly, and he responded with one of his own.

Irri felt Dany set her crown on her head, then settle back behind her and plant sweet, soft kisses on her ass. “So strong,” she whispered. “So brave. So broken and beautiful.” The kisses became more intense. “Crown or none, always my whore.” Dany spread her cheeks apart and stroked between them with the tip of her tongue. Irri’s eyes rolled back as the pleasure spread through her body.

It made her come alive again, and she sucked harder, her tongue rolling around Jon’s cock on its own volition, lingering where he liked it best, all while keeping her crown right where it was. She could feel Jon’s eyes looking down at her, so she looked back up.

“I love you,” he told her, too loudly for Dany to miss.

“ _Anha athzhilar yeri akka_ ,” she said after a short gasp of pleasure. _Wrong tongue._ “I love you, too.”

Dany said nothing, only licking faster to affirm her approval. Irri reached back with one hand and guided Dany’s head closer to her, arching her back and moaning louder onto Jon’s cock. He pulled her head closer to him in turn, and began to thrust his hips.

Suddenly, all Irri wanted was to be fucked in her stinging, aching cunt while Jon spilled his seed down her throat. _Take me through the pain until it becomes ecstasy,_ Khaleesi _. As only you can do_.

Dany’s fingers went straight to her clit, gently teasing it. It stung at first, but Dany coated them in Irri’s wetness, and suddenly it felt as if the Queen’s fingers and tongue were conspiring with each other to conquer her yet again. _She reads my thoughts. She must. She is a goddess, answering my prayer._ Irri had no other explanation. _Surrender,_ a voice told her.

Her hips began to grind. Shameless, wanton, greedy. Dany responded, sliding two fingers into her. _I am every bit the slut she says I am_. Irri hoped that never changed. She slammed her whole body back, like they were a hard, thrusting cock.

The Queen found that amusing, her licking interrupted by a noticeable chuckle. “Boywhore! Clean my cock and bring it to me!” She shouted, before returning to her slut’s reward. She stroked her fingers inside Irri’s cunt. They’d loved each other so long that Dany could turn Irri’s entire body into a mere extension of her fingers. Her heart raced, and she sucked faster, as Jon had begun to demand. _I need it down my throat. NOW._

Dany withdrew her fingers and inched back as she affixed her cock, but only for as long as it took to position it outside Irri’s soaked cunt and mount her.

As with most things, Daenerys Stormborn was merciless. But for the fact that most of them were twice her size and thrice her weight, she could easily have passed for a _Khal_ by how she fucked. _She is a_ Khal. _The only_ Khal.

Irri felt Jon’s fist suddenly clench her hair and hold her still as he fucked her mouth like a second cunt. She felt and tasted his seed pouring down her throat, swallowing eagerly. This time, she felt no guilt about her greed.

When they finished, all three collapsed in a pile on the bed. Irri’s crown still sat on her head, crookedly, as Dany had playfully refused to let her take it off. Her eyes met Aegon’s in the far corner to which he’d returned. Smiling, with the Queen of Westeros half asleep on her chest, she waved her wine cup silently in his direction. He rose, hurried over, and poured, as she used to do. When it was full, she waved him away. _Dany always promised to put me in my place_ , she remembered. _She finally kept her word._


	10. Daenerys V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I am Daenerys Stormborn, daughter of dragons, bride of dragons, mother of dragons, don’t you see? Don’t you SEE?_ With a belch of flame and smoke that reached thirty feet into the sky, the pyre collapsed and came down around her. Unafraid, Dany stepped forward into the firestorm, calling to her children.
> 
> \-- _A Game of Thrones_ , Daenerys X

_There are too many_ , Dany thought as she stood on the walls of the Red Keep, facing the bay. Her dragons had burned as many Volantene warships as they could, but they’d been at it for nearly a day and a half, and would succumb to exhaustion in a matter of hours. And it seemed for every ship they burnt, ten more appeared on the horizon.

There was nothing she could do--her fleet scattered everywhere from White Harbor to Pyke, after the Volantenes feinted toward nearly every important city in Westeros, and the ships left to defend Blackwater Bay were easily overwhelmed. _The city is lost._ Shame, disbelief, and dread filled her.

She vowed silently to die fighting, and started toward the bailey to rally her men for what was like to be their last stand. Tyrion rounded the corner in his armor, holding a Myrish eye, as close to running as Tyrion ever got.

“You should see this, Your Grace,” he handed it to her and pointed toward the bay.

For the first time in her life, Harpy sails were a welcome sight. Dany watched as they rammed headlong into the Volantenes’ rear guard, breaching the line and pouring into the bay. She was elated, of course, but that faded all too quickly. She hated having to be rescued. _Especially by him._ There was so much left unfinished between them, and she knew he would not have come this far unless he meant to finish it.

The morning the bells stopped ringing, Dany and her consorts received the savior of her city, as protocol dictated, though Tyrion advised they do it in the Small Council chamber to take his measure, before letting him make a public spectacle.

"His Excellency, the Magister of the Bay of Dragons," Missandei announced as the Magister stood behind her, shamelessly ogling her ass. Daario Naharis strode into the room like he owned it, and bowed deeply. Dany bit her cheek to restrain a lecherous smile. On either side of her, Jon and Irri seemed to need to such help.

Time and wealth had treated Daario well. He looked nearly the same, but dressed far better. His face had lost the boyish recklessness she’d found so appealing when they first met, replaced with a rare wisdom that only a true ruler could ever gain. _You little cunt-soaking shit_ , she thought, shifting in her chair. It was like he knew how her taste in men had changed, and molded himself accordingly.

When she left Meereen, she commanded him to keep the peace until the city held its own elections, but in retrospect she should have known that Daario would handily win any election in which he counted the votes. Yet to everyone’s surprise, the man had proven an excellent ruler. The region had never been more peaceful, prosperous, or free. The common people loved him, the former masters respected him, the economy was booming, and the wealth and opportunity had spread to rich and poor alike.

“Welcome to the Seven Kingdoms, Magister,” Jon began, as cordially as Jon got. _He’d rather have had the man gelded,_ Dany knew. “We’ve heard much about you.”

Daario smiled crookedly. “All vicious lies, I assure you, Your Grace.”

Jon ignored the jape, but kept his courtesies. “We owe you a great debt.”

“You owe me nothing, Your Grace. I owe everything I have to your Queen. This was the least I could do to repay her.”

“You owe everything you have to your own people, who _chose_ you as their leader, or so I’m told,” Dany meant that as a scolding, but it sounded dangerously close to flirtation. “Pay your debt to them, first.”

“Wise words, my Queen. All I beg is that you accept one more token.” _I’m not your Queen, and don’t beg me for things. You don’t know what that does to me._ But that wasn’t his fault. She herself had barely understood that part of her when she left Meereen.

Daario brought forth two servants with a chest and had them place it on the table, opening it to reveal three tarred heads resting on a dirty Volantene flag. Jon was nonplussed, but Irri was there the last time he’d brought her severed heads, and understood the implication. She looked at Dany and rolled her eyes, but Dany was less dismissive. Irri took her meaning and nodded in an amused if slightly annoyed acquiescence.

“And who are these?” Dany asked, outwardly unimpressed. _My tastes in boxed heads have grown rather expensive._

“The triarchs of Volantis, Your Grace. The flag came from atop the Black Walls. The city is yours.”

“Ours,” Jon interrupted. “And that's very nice, but Volantis is thousands of leagues away, and we lack the men, coin, and time to govern it.”

“And men do not come this far just to give gifts,” Irri added. “They do it because they want something. What do you want?” She asked bluntly. Irri was growing into a skeptical and calculating Queen, and in public, her demeanor could be nearly unreadable.

Daario smirked. “To make Daenerys Targaryen the Empress of the known world.” Dany knew better than to trust offers like that, but the notion stirred her cunt nonetheless.

“The other Free Cities are ripe for the taking,” he explained. “They no longer have the Braavosi or the Volantenes to protect them. Take them, and I’ll bend the knee.” He turned to Dany. “Every inch of land from Vaes Dothrak to the Lonely Light will be yours.” _Mine._

For the sake of her marriages, she needed a better response than to vault over the table and mount his face. “Men have made such promises before, and most of them have died screaming. You know that. Why make such an offer?”

“Money, Your Grace. It’s that simple.” _You can’t pump money out of my cunt,_ she looked at him sideways. _But_ _you’re welcome to try._ “You’re not one to sit here, knowing there’s a part of the world you haven’t yet conquered.” _He’s right_ , she conceded. “Soon or late, you’ll want the rest. War is bad for trade, and trade has made me quite rich. A world built on trade is one where anyone can succeed through his own efforts, and not his blood, or by turning men into chattel. That’s precisely what you’ve wanted since the day I met you, but it won’t happen if we’re rivals. So why stand in your way? Let’s strike while our enemies are weak, join our Kingdoms, and spend our lives building that world instead of squabbling over it.” _But I love a good, hard squabble._  

“Magister.” Tyrion interjected. “I hate to stand in the way of a man’s cock, especially when I stand at eye level with it. But you know this is precisely why I advised Her Grace to leave you in Meereen. The North only bent the knee so the heir to the Iron Throne would have Stark blood. If she conceives a child while you’re here, the mere possibility that it doesn’t would all but guarantee a long, bloody war.”

Dany had new reason to doubt that was truly a problem, though she dare not say it aloud. Jon was blissfully ignorant of it, but he was a man, and not attuned to it. As a woman who spent a great deal of time with her face in Dany’s cunt every month, Irri knew, but Dany swore her to secrecy. “It could be my nerves from the battle,” Dany had cautioned, “or another false start.”

“I know, my Lord Hand,” Daario replied, “You have my word that if the Queen and her consorts command it, I will leave tomorrow on the morning tide. On my honor, I swear I will not put a bastard in her.” _He means he wants my ass,_ to which she was amenable.

Dany could not appear to be idly pondering how many soldiers Daario would need to provide before he could fuck her up the ass, though she was doing precisely that. “I appreciate your kindness, Magister, and I will always remember our time together fondly. But that's all it is. A memory. I won’t ask my people to shed blood in a foreign land, no matter how just the cause.” Most of the time, that would have not been an utter lie, but this man made her lust to bring a few more cities to their knees.

“Her Grace has spoken,” Jon declared. “And I accept your offer. You will sail on the morning tide. I don't know what you've heard about me, but I will not have men doubt if I’m my child’s father.”

Daario looked at Dany. _I can't overrule him. Not here._ “Very well,” he conceded. “I shall ask no more of you.” His voice was tinged with that subtle petulance he got when he didn't get his way.

Dany and Jon returned to their bedchamber alone. Dany had given Qezza Galare, the former hostage from Meereen, to Irri as a handmaiden. She was a sweet girl, and as part of a vow to always treat her servants kindly, Irri had promised to teach her how to ride. That was the most adorable thing Dany ever heard, and she gave them leave to practice whenever they wished.

“Thank you, Dany,” Jon said as they entered the bedchamber, truly grateful.

Dany just smiled at him, sweetly. “For what?” She stripped to her smallclothes and sat near the brazier.

“You know precisely what.” He sat across from her. “That could have gone much differently, but it didn’t.”

A glint of tentative mischief crept into Dany’s eyes.

The gratitude disappeared from Jon’s face. “What.”

Dany shrugged and bit her lip, blushing a bit.

Jon groaned. “No. No, no, no. No.” _Yes, yes, yes, and you know it._

“He’ll be gone on the morrow, my love.” She promised, her voice masking a sudden desperation.

“You don’t have to fuck everyone you meet. You do know that, don’t you? We’ve discussed this.”

“I resent that, bastard. I have no plans whatsoever to fuck Varys or Grey Worm.” She regretted the jape as soon as she said it. _This pains him more than I thought._

Jon glared at her, unamused. “I’m serious. Am I not enough for you?”

Dany sighed, bracing herself. _Since you asked…_ ”No.”

Jon looked like he’d been stabbed in the gut. 

“And neither is Irri,” she went on, “or Aegon, or Daario. If _Drogo_ strolled through that door right now, he wouldn’t be enough, either.”

“Then why are you with us?!” Jon demanded. “If we’re just toys to you, why marry us? Why set Aegon aside? Why have the Realm bend the knee to a Dothraki handmaiden? Never mind the risk to your own head, you’ve put _her_ in danger!” _He truly loves her._ She adored his instinct to protect her sweetling, and suddenly felt terribly guilty. _I won’t hurt her again, I promise_.

“Because I _need_ you!” _I thought you knew that._ “Like I need air and water. But I can’t live on that alone.”

“What else do you need, then?” He was in no mood for flattery.

“Freedom. To do as I please. To take what I want. I’ve grown accustomed to that, if you hadn’t noticed, and I won’t give it up. I won't stop wanting to fuck other men just because I’m married, no matter how happily. I don’t need all of them, but if I want one badly enough, I need to know I can have him.” 

“And what about me?”

“You gave up your freedom the night you came to King’s Landing, and you know it.” _He still forgets himself sometimes._ “But you still have Irri. And Aegon. And you can always beg my leave to be with others.” _Notice I said ‘beg.’_

“I don’t want any others.” _This one might actually believe it_. Stark boys were precious like that.

“Not now, perhaps. But if you returned to the North without me, are you truly certain you wouldn’t lust for a night with some Wildling?”

 Jon paused, unable to refute her.

“I never loved Daario,” Dany explained. “I thought I did, once, but I was half a girl. He’s charming, but he’s a fool. You saw it yourself. He’s skilled with his cock, nothing more.”

“Promise me you're not doing this just to hurt me,” Jon implored her. “Toy with me all you want, but don’t crush me. And it would crush me if this man started to mean something to you.”

Something about that made Dany stir--not the thought of crushing him, but the sincerity in his voice. “I know, my love. And I don’t want to hurt you in that way. Truly.”

“How do I know that?” 

“I’ll leave his bedchamber as soon as I’m done. And if he’s not gone by the morrow like he promised, you can take his head yourself. Or his balls, or both.” That seemed to help, at least somewhat.

“I’m not Aegon, Dany. I don’t want to hear about how I’m a lesser man than he is.”

“You’re not a lesser man, my love. Quite the opposite.” His face was still all pain and squeamishness, but she spotted a tightness in his breeches. _I knew it._ Her heart beat faster, and her cunt tingled. “If I wanted him so badly, I’d have sent for him when I took the Iron Throne. He would have been a suitable consort by then. But I don’t want him like that. Only you.”

Dany’s eyes went down to his crotch, shamelessly admiring what Jon could no longer hide. His face went flush as she looked back up. She rose and dropped to her knees between legs, rested her elbows on his thighs and began to unlace his breeches. Her eyes met his again. They begged him to indulge her, dared him to refuse, and invited him to forget everything in the world but what he was about to feel.

Jon stroked her hair slowly and softly, his face conceding that he was warming to the idea as she took his cock out and began to kiss it. “Only me,” he repeated.

“ _Only_ you.” Dany took him into her mouth, slowly but deep, to remind him of what she alone could do to him. She flashed her purple eyes again as she reached the base and slid her lips back up. This time, however, she meant to extract a confession. “You like talking about this,” she told him softly, her lips still brushing against the head of his cock. “Don’t you, bastard?” 

He still refused to say it, but the deep, tortured breath he took was all the proof she needed.

“Your mind hates it, but you crave it anyway,” she guessed, correctly, as she stroked his cock and teased the head with her thumb.

He finally gave her something approaching a “Yes.” She dug a nail in, where the head met the shaft. “Yes, Your Grace.” _Better._

Dany smiled and let him enjoy her mouth again, then stopped. “I know you better than you know yourself, sweet nephew.” She reminded him. “Don’t ever forget that.”

Jon nodded obediently as she resumed, no longer teasing, shutting out everything but him, unleashing the wanton slut that still dwelled inside her and always would. He ran his fingers through her hair and pulled her head onto his cock. _That’s it. More. Lose yourself._

When he started to, she took her mouth off of him and let his cock stand where it was; stiff, pulsing, helpless. “Do you know why that is?”

He sighed, irritated that he had to remember how to speak. _You are so fun to irritate._ “Why, Your Grace?” He asked, breathlessly.

“Because,” Dany kissed up his shaft but pulled away just below the head. “You’re a man. It’s part of who you are.” She pressed her lips around the head and dragged them off slowly.

“What?”

“You’ll see, sweet nephew.” Dany grinned, until she felt his hand pressing against the back of her head impatiently. She swatted it away. “ _No_ ,” she commanded. “Who owns it?”

“You do, Your Grace.”

Her eyes narrowed until she saw the fear she wanted. “Don’t forget yourself. You’ll get what you want, when I see fit to give it.” He nodded apologetically, and she resumed pleasuring him for a moment, as reassurance.

“Jealousy makes men into animals. You’ll want to best him. You’ll want to make me forget him,” she suddenly found her hand between her legs, eager to unleash the animal in her King. “You’ll fuck me twice as hard. Crave me twice as badly. Need my love more than ever.” Like a good boy, he kept his hands on his knees, well clear of her head. She rested the head of his cock on her lips, laced her fingers with his, and looked up again. “And I’ll give it to you.”

“Just don’t make me watch,” he blurted out before she could take him back in. His words were slurred, but his tone was firm.

 _I suppose that was always too much to ask._ “Very well, but that will cost you.”

Jon regretted it instantly, she could tell. “Cost me, Your Grace?”

Dany smacked his cock, put her fingertips on the head, and dug her nails into it. He grimaced as it softened, and squirmed as she stuffed it back into his breeches and laced them back up.

Jon looked at her like he were a child and she’d stolen his sweet. Dany looked back, like she would enjoy that sort of thing.

She stood, straddled him, kissed him softly and stroked his cheek, smiling. “No release until I'm done with him. Irri will watch you while I'm gone, and rule you in my stead.” 

That night, after giving Irri her orders, Dany left for Daario’s chambers alone, nearly skipping down the hall, her steps lighter without the guards and flatterers surrounding her.

“I’ll have you killed if you tell anyone, and if I don’t, your master will,” Dany warned the Meereenese guard outside Daario’s bedchamber, in High Valyrian. Her hair was a disaster and she was barefoot, wearing only her bedclothes. Her tone was not unkindly, but the guard knew who she was, and that she did not make idle threats. He nodded silently, opened the door for her, and stood aside.

Daario saw her and sat up in bed, naked.

“Magister,” she greeted him with a casual smile.

Daario responded with a perplexed, almost suspicious look. “How did you get past the guard?” He asked.

“Ruling bored me so I trained to be a Faceless Man.” When he said nothing back, she studied his face to see if he truly believed it, biting her lip until she couldn't contain the laughter. “I threatened to kill him, you dolt!”

“And your husband threatened to kill me,” Daario reminded her.

“Only if you don’t leave on the morrow,” Dany corrected him. “He said nothing about the meantime.” She threw off her nightclothes and straddled him.

“And if I plant a bastard in you?”

“Plant it where it won’t grow.” _Men are fools._ She grabbed his cock, uninterested in his permission. “How many women have had this since I left?” She stroked, feeling it pulse in her hand. “A hundred? A thousand?”

He couldn’t resist bragging. “I lost count.”

“Eleven, then?” Dany smiled, and guided him into her thoroughly wet cunt. _Gods, I’ve missed this._

She leaned down, and their lips and tongues reacquainted themselves, locking and wrestling as their mouths began to water. So much had happened since they’d last seen each other, but something about him turned her right back into the stuttering, stammering child she’d been when he first took her.

“I did love you, you know,” he whispered as he broke the kiss and moved to her neck. He remembered the precise spot that made her the weakest. It made her gasp. Everyone else had to search for it, but he simply knew.

Dany conquered men in her bed like she conquered everything else--with surprise, terror, and overwhelming force. She gave only nominal credence to the notion that knowledge of the terrain could win battles. But the way Daario knew her body better than she did, even after all this time, made her wonder if she'd been wrong.

He was lean, graceful, smooth, and precise. Like a dancer. Every thrust was the perfect speed, depth, and angle for that one moment. Every stroke of his tongue was perfectly placed. He used his strength, but never made a show of it, because he didn't need to. He caught her off guard time and again, shocking her at how easily he could make her his own.

“Did you love me?” He asked.

“No,” she answered breathlessly, clinging to her wits as he slowly peeled them away from her. _That will drive him mad_ , she knew, and that was the point. “But I want to. _Make_ me love you. Make me give up everything.” He could do no such thing, even at his best. _I can be such a twisted cunt sometimes._ But sometimes the only way a man would fuck her like a twisted cunt was if she acted like one.

“Should I?” Daario’s breath was growing heavy. His hands moved behind her hips and gripped her cheeks. She could feel each finger dig into her flesh and tug them apart. When he smacked them and gripped them again, harder, the wave of sensation flowed up her back, forcing it to arch. “You want that, don’t you?”

 _Maybe._ “Not yet. Work for it, you pretty whore of a man.” She thrust her weight down on him.

Daario sat up and threw her aside like she weighed nothing. “Bugger that, maybe I’ll just steal you.” He grinned. _Yes. Please._ In that moment, she would much rather have been his concubine than anyone’s Empress. _Lock me in your cabin. Fuck me like a cheap bedslave all the way back to Meereen._  

“What if I fight you?” She taunted him, kicking and squirming as he tried to mount her.

Daario only laughed and flipped her onto her stomach. “You won’t, if you know what’s good for you.”

Dany tried to claw her way off the mattress, but Daario grabbed her. She kept fighting, and was about to thrust a heel into his balls when she felt him pull her up and slide his tongue between her cheeks. Her legs trembled and her heel froze where it was. Her hands struggled to grip the sheets. The world went dark as her eyes closed themselves. The side of her head hit the mattress, and she heard herself gasp and moan, quivering and helpless.

She’d forgotten how good at that he was. Her slaves would do it on command, but they clearly preferred her cunt. Daario seemed to take pleasure in how easily it came to him, and how quickly it gave him such power over her.

The man was maddeningly patient. He devoured her, pressed the tip of his tongue against her, his head rolling from side to side like a wolf tearing the throat from its still-living prey. He slid two fingers into her drenched cunt, and stroked her from the inside as he teased her clit with his thumb. The noise she made sounded almost like sobbing.

“Beg for it!” He barked, taking his mouth off of her for just long enough to say the words.

Her own mind betrayed her. _He told you to beg. Fucking beg, like the bitch you are!_ “Please! Please!”

Daario thrust his fingers hard and deep. “Please, what?!”

“ _Fuck me!_ ” She felt him withdraw, and smack her ass like an insolent child. _That was commanding, not begging_ , she realized. _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry._ “Please fuck me!” She blurted it out quickly, before he could correct her. _Please let me be your little fuck toy. I can be good, see?_

He hit her again, on the other cheek. She squealed. “That’s begging?!”

“Please, please, _please_ fuck me!” Dany backed herself toward him greedily, desperately, hoping to simply fall onto his cock. “I need your cock in me, I _need_ it! Please fuck me, please fuck me, please please please, I’m your _slave!_ ” 

He liked that, and threw her down onto the mattress. She heard him spit into his hand. “Everywhere you’ve ever gone, they’ve called you a foreign whore,” he told her, as she felt him filling her. _Yes, yes, THANK YOU._ “And they’re right.” _Yes, my lord._

She would have said that, but she couldn’t stop herself from moaning. She nodded, hoping he’d see her confession.

Mindlessly, Dany reached back to rub her clit. Daario grabbed her wrist and pulled it behind her back. “See? Look at you.” _Don't touch without his leave._ Every word, every thrust of his cock only served to break her further.

In truth, Dany needed a good breaking. As much she loved the power she had over Jon and Irri, ruling them was like ruling everything else. Everything she ever did as a Queen made her want to slip into a hot bath at the end of the day, to close her eyes, shut out her thoughts and surrender to the sensations engulfing her body. What Daario gave her was less soothing, less peaceful, but cleansed her mind all the same.

Daario took over what her hand had started, but rougher, more deliberate, less concerned with her pace and more with his own. _He does that better than I do._ She panted, and screamed as his other hand gripped her waist. _Teach me my place._

In that moment, Dany’s place was right there, with her muscles clenched tightly around his cock, pulling him in deeper. Her clit throbbed, and she threw her weight back against him, over and over, harder and harder, until all she could do was bite the sheets and scream into the mattress. Her legs shook and gave out, and as she came down, she felt the warmth of his seed filling her. She sighed a long, sated, relieved sigh.

“Well, I didn't put a bastard in you,” Daario told Dany as she lay on his chest. “You’re certain your husband won’t take my head regardless?”

“I'm certain,” Dany sat up, planted a few short kisses on his neck, and once more on his mouth. “Though I must take my leave soon.”

“You took quite a risk to fuck a man you’ll never see again. I must be rather good.” He smirked his cocksure smirk, knowing full well how good he was.

“Who says I’ll never see you?” She smiled coyly.

Daario raised an eyebrow. “Do you plan to nearly lose your Realm again?" 

Dany bit his earlobe playfully. “No, I mean to grow it. All the way to Meereen.” She climbed out of bed, stood beside it, and stretched, feeling him leaking out of her.

Daario sat up and edged to the side of the mattress. “Everyone else despised that idea.” He looked up at her as all the humor and submission melted from her face, as if by dragonfire.

“Don’t concern yourself with them. They’ll bend,” she looked at the floor, then back up at the upjumped sellsword, and cocked her head to one side. “Much like you should be doing.”

Daario gave her a confused look. 

She pointed to the floor in front of her feet. “You didn't think you'd fuck me for free, did you? I am a whore, after all. You said so yourself.” _And you offered precisely this in exchange._ “Now shall we do this here, or atop the rubble I’ll make of your Great Pyramid?”

“You are a twisted cunt, and I’ve missed you dearly.” He smiled, sank to one knee, and said the words. _Good boy._

Dany returned to her bedchamber quietly. Irri slept peacefully on one side of the bed; an angel, as always. Jon was on his back on the other side, plainly struggling to sleep. He took a pillow from the center of the mattress--Dany’s pillow--and rolled over, pressing it onto his head. _Bitch,_ she laughed to herself.

Irri opened her eyes and smiled as Dany crawled between them. “Was it good, _Khaleesi?_ ” she asked in Dothraki, still half asleep.

Dany kissed her forehead. “So good, sweetling.”

She reclaimed her pillow from Jon, who protested with a plaintive grunt.

“Hush.” She took his cock in her hand, and felt it harden from the mere touch. “Eyes closed, nephew,” she whispered lovingly. Jon began to stir. Dany released her grip on his cock and slid a finger into his mouth. “ _Eyes closed,_ if you know what’s good for you.” Her tone was just as soothing, but the warning was unmistakable. Jon sucked peacefully, and after a moment or two, began to snore.

Keeping with custom, the three of them escorted their guest to the docks the next morning. Daario avoided eye contact with Jon as much as possible, still assuming the night before was a secret. Jon did the same, but Dany spotted him stealing the occasional jealous, furious glare. _You have no idea how wet that makes me._ Jon had the most beautiful, cunt-drenching sulk of any man, living or dead.

His goodbye was diplomatic, cordial, and mercifully free of snide comments. As they rode back to the Red Keep, Dany took it upon herself to recount the prior evening for Jon. She described everything in great detail, save for precisely where Daario spilled his seed. _Let him think what he will._ That would only make it better for her. Jon fidgeted the whole way, like he had a ferret in his breeches. _I should also tell him we own a third of Essos now._ But that could wait.

“Shall I tie him down, _Khaleesi?_ ” Irri asked when they returned to their bedchamber.

“No.” Dany stood a few feet from the foot of the bed, and pointed to the nearest bedpost. “Tether him by the ankle. Give him enough rope to move to where I’m standing, but no more.”

Irri smiled crookedly. “At once, _Khaleesi_.” She did as commanded.

The rope gave Jon just enough freedom of movement to almost matter. If Dany felt generous, she could stand close enough to let him struggle to kiss the ground before her feet, but she had no cause for such generosity.

Dany handed Irri a bottle of ointment that Sam had given her to ease her aching muscles. It worked wonders, but stung like all seven hells on more sensitive parts of the body. “Rub this on his hands, then keep yourself busy. You’ll have your turn, but I want him to myself first.”

Irri nodded, knowing better than to pout.

“You can touch your cock all you want,” she explained to Jon, as Irri coated his hands, “though I would caution against it.” The Queen smiled at him from just beyond his reach, pausing to regard his face. “You’re wroth with me, aren’t you?”

“A wee bit, aye!” The insolence was an eminently fair price for the chance to see him puzzle at what to do with his hands.

“Why?” She asked him.

“I did _not_ need to hear all about what you did with some other man!”

Dany stepped forward, close enough to feel his breath on her, and to give him some slack. He puffed his chest out, like he were posturing for some tussle in the yard at Castle Black, but he stepped back when he felt her glare. Dany laughed to herself. _I could hurt you far worse than some half-wit rapist._

She eyed him up and down and touched his cock. It had grown hard on its own. “You hated every minute of it, I see.”

“I’m not Aegon,” he told her yet again. “I don’t want to hear about how some other man is better than me.”

Dany put a hand under his chin and guided his eyes to hers. “Then you weren’t listening, sweet nephew. I said nothing of the sort.”

“You said he made you want to give up your crown and run away with him.”

“And did I say you couldn’t have done the same?”

Jon struggled to understand where this was going. _Silly boy._

“Daario fucked me until I thought something stupid. Men who can do that are nine a penny. You're worth far more. You put my desires before your own. Even when it drives you mad with pain and envy. And you love it.”

His cock twitched.

“You fear me,” Dany went on. “Not because of my dragons, or the madness in my blood, but because you'd never forgive yourself for displeasing me. Your fear makes you love me, and your love makes you fear me, and that makes you love me even more. Do you know how beautiful that is? To not have to choose between your fear and your love? Nothing any man can do with his body will ever please me like that.”

“Are you saying that to console me?” He was still suspicious. “Because I don't need your pity.”

“I don't pity you. I cherish you.” She spread her feet apart and slid two fingers into her cunt. They came out dripping, and went straight into Jon’s mouth. “Look at what you do to me. Most men would see that and grab me, fuck me like I don't matter, and go on with their day. You could do that now, even with the tether.”

She kissed him, teased his cock between the lips of her cunt, and stepped back beyond his reach. “But you won’t. You'll stay, and wait, and obey, because I'm _all_ that matters. You tether _yourself_. Whenever I take my pleasure with someone else, I remember that. You _sustain_ me. You’re my lifeblood.”

It hit Dany, hard, that as desperately as Jon needed to know he was her good boy, she needed to know he wanted to be.

His look softened. “Then why did you tell me about Daario?”

“To purge your silly mind of everything but the burning need to outdo him.” She squeezed his cock, lightly at first, then harder. “Have I succeeded?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, like a fool. 

“Of course not.” She stepped forward and slapped him. “You don’t bother to think about how you feel. You just feel it.”

“You’re provoking me,” Jon growled, as if to disprove her.

“Very good, bastard!” Dany flashed him an amused smile, slapped him again, and stepped backward. He moved forward until he ran out of slack. She laughed.

“I can do anything any other man can do,” he insisted. _Most men can move more than a few feet beyond a bedpost_.

Dany raised an eyebrow, slapped him again, and stepped back out of his range. “Can you?” She moved to her left, her eyes dragging him with her.

“You know I can fuck you until you forget your name. Until you can’t walk, or speak, or remember where you are.”

Another slap. His cheek was turning red, and she could see the shape of her hand on it. _Mmm._

“Maybe,” she teased, as she kept turning him toward the side of the bed.

“I can fuck you until you turn right back into the slut beggar that Drogo never bothered to pay for.”

That may have been the harshest thing he’d ever said to her, which lit a fire in her eyes. _I will relish this._  

Dany grabbed his balls. “Are we at a Small Council meeting?” She squeezed until he grimaced, then pulled him closer and hit him again. “Because you’re running your mouth like it.”

She twisted his nipples and spat in his face. “Shall we fetch Sam?” She backhanded him. “To read the minutes from the last time I beat your weak bastard ass all over this room?”

Dany hopped onto the bed and leaned against the headboard. Jon followed, his tether affording him enough slack to grab her if he wanted to. And he wanted to; that was plain. _But he won’t,_ she predicted, correctly.

“Did I mention he bent the knee?”

Jon looked at her, puzzled.

“You know,” she extended one leg, flexed her toes, and planted them softly under his nose. “When a man kneels at my feet,” she explained, bringing her leg back down, “and submits to my rule.”

Jon followed, inhaled, and softly kissed her sole. _He’s drunk on it_ , she realized, as he closed his eyes and purred softly. It had always escaped her why men like Jon adored that part of her so much, and why it made them so weak and subservient. But the sensation was oddly arousing, and the act itself a gesture of pure submission, which only made it better. 

Dany felt the back of her head hit the wall. She slid downward, quivering, until her ass hit the mattress. She watched, toying with her cunt as Jon ingratiated himself to the dirt beneath her feet. _That’s all you’d be without me, and you know it, bastard._ _Prostrate yourself. Kiss it._  

He did, until her arousal was obvious. Jon looked up, begging her leave. With her nod of approval, he pushed her legs apart, planting soft kisses from her ankles to her calves and slowly up her inner thighs. _That's right, I always come first. Always._

Her cunt had been ready for some time, and Jon’s tongue gave her what she needed, slowly at first, speeding up as her moans and grinding and hair pulling commanded; no more, and no less. 

Dany sensed a different sort of hunger in him. He wasn't doing this out of love, or lust, or even his duty to please her. _He's cleaning me out_. She smiled. _He thinks he’s purging me of Daario._ There was nothing to purge, and Jon’s mind didn’t understand what his tongue was doing, but that made no matter. _He wants my womb to himself_.

Seeing a man this devoted to her cunt would normally have made her stronger, harsher, greedier for power and the thrill of wielding it. But her head only sank deeper into the pillow, and her moans slipped farther beyond her control.

Her legs shook until her heels fell to rest on his back; her body suddenly too heavy to squeeze and pull and grind like she was accustomed to. All she could do was stroke his hair and gasp.

“More,” she gasped and panted. “ _More!_ ” It sounded like pleading, but in the moment, it was as close to a command as she could muster.

He knelt upright on the bed, pulled her up by her hips so they stayed on his shoulders, and bent ever so slightly so his face buried itself in her crotch.

Dany was not expecting that. She still wanted to grab his hair and rape his face, but she couldn’t reach him. She clenched the sheets, but he still dragged her where he pleased, and she could do nothing to stop him. He consumed her, pulling her further up, staring down at her widening eyes as she realized she’d put herself at his mercy. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ She despised powerlessness without deciding to feel it. But her cunt had started to spasm, and she squirmed from side to side, hoping to at least make him chase her.

Jon was in no mood to make this a game. His hands gripped her waist and refused to let her go. He growled softly again as he sucked and massaged her clit, sensing what made her weaker and brought her closer to losing herself completely.

Dany could feel her pleasure fast approaching a boil. _No. He can't grow presumptuous._ She crossed her legs behind his upper back, flexed the muscles in her abdomen and pulled her cuntslave’s body back down where it belonged.

With his hair within reach, she grabbed it to remind him who she was. “When you kneel in my presence, your head stays on the _fucking_ floor until I say otherwise, do you hear me?” She twisted his hair in her fists. “Half-breed bitch, _do you hear me?!_ ” 

Jon nodded and grunted a plea for forgiveness, which Dany was too enraptured to deny. She sensed her face twisting and contorting itself; her body tensing, her back arching, her legs struggling to keep the strength to lock his head between them.

“Yes, yes, yes, I own you, _I FUCKING OWN YOU!_ ” She owned nearly half the world--maybe more now, she hadn’t bothered to check--but in the moment she couldn't bring herself to care about any possessions but the one with its face between her legs.

When it was done, Dany caught her breath and watched Jon tend to his aching jaw. That made her smile. For the first time, she noticed the sensation on her legs and waist, where his hands had been. _The ointment._ That made her smile even more. _He’s most like forgotten about it_. That made her outright wet again, and she wanted to see him touch his cock and suffer, _Not if he’s about to fuck me with it._ That made her a bit sad, but it was the truth, so she sat up and grabbed it.

“Fuck me,” she commanded. “Now, sweet nephew, I need it, _fuck me._ ”

Jon edged toward her until he ran out of slack, a few inches separating him from his prize. Dany giggled. _I love being a twisted cunt._ She slid closer, opened her legs, and guided him in. His cock pushed its way into her, filling her almost effortlessly. Her hands found his back, her nails digged themselves in, and her hips led him further inside.

Jon was never reckless or blind to what pleased her, but there was a new sense of purpose and deliberation to how he fucked her; an urgency that brooked no distraction or compromise. He leaned down and kissed her, and put a hand on her neck to hold her face where it was, refusing to break away. He pushed his cock deeper into her with each roll of his hips, and took his time pulling himself back, almost angrily. _His cock is finishing what his tongue started._

“Don’t stop,” Dany begged in a whisper, when the kiss finally broke. “Finish it.” She smacked his ass and pulled him in deeper to urge him on, uncertain if he knew what she meant by “it,” and whether it mattered.

Jon growled the low, tormented, implacable growl he made when he felt challenged. _He knows._ Whatever pain he’d felt over the past day funneled itself into a half-mad ruthlessness that only a man who shared her blood could summon. _Yes. That. More. Like my brother’s whelp._ Dany could tell that he meant to reclaim her; to purge her cunt of any trace of another man and plant his seed where his alone belonged.

She locked eyes with him and caressed his cheek. “Make me forget him.” She was almost begging. “Claim me. Make me all yours. _Breed me like a bitch._ ”

 _This is your job, bastard. It’s why you were brought back from the dead._ It had to be. If any man alive could do it, it was him and no one else. 

He moaned softly, pushed her legs back and tossed them onto his shoulders. The change made her gasp and reach to pull him in deeper. His pace sped up, but he remained just as methodical; he was clearly enjoying it, but his face was as determined as she’d ever seen it. _He cares more about his purpose than his pleasure,_ Dany realized. _This is what I’ve been training him for._ She hadn’t even thought of it that way before.

She slapped him. “Do it, you little shit, put a _fucking_ baby in me!” She lost herself in his eyes, her strength returning as Jon’s began to overwhelm her. “I need it, I need it, I need it!” 

Jon put a hand on her throat and the other over her mouth. “Then _shut your mouth_ and keep your slut legs open!” 

Shocked and soaking, Dany shut her mouth and kept her slut legs open, moaning into Jon’s palm, losing herself in the bliss of surrendering her right to breathe as she pleased. That served for a moment, but to keep him from growing too bold again, she bit his finger, stared him down, and growled _._ _He knows his purpose._ She felt genuinely certain of it. Her conquest of this man was complete; her power absolute. Her chest pumped and her body twisted as she began to struggle for air. _Mmm._

Jon sensed it and released his hands. No longer afraid of going too far, he let the madness consume him, and pounded away at her cunt like he would beat an unruly dog. He grabbed a fistful of hair and glared down, blinding her to everything but his eyes. The scream that came with his last thrust sounded almost like agony. He left himself as deep inside her as he could get, and for half a heartbeat she thought he’d hurt himself.

Then it burst. His cock moved on its own; its pulse just as strong in her cunt as her own heart in her breathless chest. One burst, then another. Then another. Then another. Then another. Then another. Dany struggled to remember the last time she felt this much come out of a man at one time.

“Give it to me! Fill my _fucking_ cunt!” 

“It’s mine!” He shouted through gritted teeth, pumping a few more times for good measure.

“All yours. _All yours!_ ” Her cunt drank him in; its muscles squeezing against his cock, refusing to let go. The warmth from each burst coursed through her entire body.

She exhaled deeply, thoroughly satisfied, as he finally relaxed. Jon let himself breathe as well, and pulled his body back slightly. _No. Not yet._ “Leave it in.”

He obeyed, but for a moment he looked embarrassed, almost blushing. She chuckled to herself, still catching her breath. “I know what happens next,” she smiled, nodding reassuringly. “I’ve seen it soft, too, you know.” _Why must every man try to trick me into thinking his cock is special?_ But she was too deeply in love at the moment to hold his manhood against him.

Jon cracked a slightly embarrassed smile. _I love when he turns back into half a boy_. It made her want to do terrible things to toughen him up. “I love being inside you,” he said.

 _You’d fucking better love it._ “I love it too. Don’t pull out. Just let it shrink. It’s alright, my love.”

He kissed her on the mouth, and their tongues wrapped themselves in each other like the rest of them. His cock grew softer until it simply retracted itself from her body, and he looked down, begging her leave to lay next to her. His patience, his devotion, his obedience--it all made her want to fuck him again that instant. But she knew she would have to wait, so she nodded and let him dismount.

Dany rolled over, threw her leg over his, and rested her head on his chest. His heart was still racing and his breath still fast. “I love you more than life itself, you _do_ know that, yes?” She’d tormented the poor boy for a day now, and in moments like these, she always felt the need to make certain.

“I know. I love you every bit as much. I will serve and worship you until the day I die.” She closed her eyes, fearing she’d sob like a mad woman if she looked at him.

“I told you, jealousy makes men into animals,” Dany said, once she composed herself. “You wanted your baby in me. Yours, and no one else's. You wanted all of his seed out of me. That's why you ravaged my cunt like you did. You were _pulling_ him out of me. With your tongue, and your cock. _Cleaning_ me. It’s in your nature.”

Jon was skeptical. “It’s in my nature to dig other men’s seed out of your cunt?”

Dany smiled and nodded. “Why do you think your cock is shaped the way it is?”

At a loss, he raised an eyebrow. “Who told you this?”

“Tyrion. He knows things.”

“Why were you talking to Tyrion about cock shapes?”

Dany laughed and kissed him. “It was a long boat ride.” They gazed at each other shamelessly, until Dany's smile gradually faded.

Jon noticed, and grew concerned. “Are you alright?” 

Dany exhaled. “You should know something.” She sat up. “I’m not certain why yet, so we shouldn’t presume anything, but I’m a bit late.”

He looked confused, until he worked out what “late” meant. Then his eyes bulged and his face restrained some concoction of joy, hope, and terror. She felt guilty for not telling him earlier, but his mind would have twisted into knots if she had, and she couldn’t abide a knotted-up slut during a siege.

“Wait.” Jon panicked, all knotted-up. “Shouldn’t you do something now? Drink...juice? Keep your feet warm?” He threw a blanket over her feet, just to be safe. “I don’t know, something. Sam will know. _Sam!!_ ” He barked at the door. Sam was halfway across the castle.

Dany had no choice but to cackle. “Calm yourself, my love. If it doesn’t come in a few days, I’ll have Sam examine me. Then I’ll drink so much juice I’ll turn into a pomegranate.” She paused. “But don't trouble yourself with that. I’m not done with you.”

She kissed him on the forehead, rolled out of bed, and turned to Irri, who was casually picking her way through a bowl of olives and taking in the spectacle. “Sweetling, get the chains.”

Irri smiled. “Of course, _Khaleesi._ ”

When the manacles were ready, Jon stood near the bed and put his wrists up like the good boy he was, but Dany had her sweetling lock only one of them. With his one arm hanging in the air, Dany stood on her toes, kissed Jon sweetly on the mouth, and reached for his free hand. Jon moved to lace his fingers with hers, but before he had the chance, she cupped his hand firmly on his balls, broke the kiss and pulled away,

The Dragon Queen smiled, a giddy malevolence lighting her eyes. “Seven hells, I forgot.” She wiped his palm all over the head and shaft of his cock. “The ointment.” She tossed his wrist behind his back. Irri caught it. “Gag him, too.”

Dany grabbed the olives, sat back on the bed, opened her legs, and summoned Irri to put her sweet, slutty head between them. She blew Jon a kiss as the ointment set in and he began to writhe.

“All you can do is suffer through it, you know,” she said as she stroked Irri’s hair. “It seeps into you. You can’t wash it off.” She popped an olive into her mouth, pulled out the pit, and playfully threw it at him, hitting him in the chest.

“It’s a good thing, though,” she continued, pausing for a soft moan. “You’re long overdue for some suffering, aren’t you?”

Jon nodded the correct answer.

“I’d beat you, but I’m too tired.” Dany pressed Irri’s head against her cunt and took another olive. “You fucked me too hard.” She flung the pit at him, almost angrily. “ _He_ fucked me too hard.” She studied his reaction. _It still pains him. Good._

Irri found a spot that made Dany lose herself and roll her eyes back in her head. “Right there, slut,” she whispered. She opened them to see Jon flailing and kicking like he was being hanged, screaming into the gag. Tears welled in his eyes, but she noticed him stealing a glance or two at Irri. _He wants to know what she’s doing._  

Dany threw a whole olive at Jon’s face. It hit him on the cheekbone, and a drop of brine spattered into his eye. He closed it and tugged at his chains, shaking his head and trying to rub it, to no avail. _Gods, that is perfect._ “Work that out for yourself, bastard!” She threw her legs around Irri’s neck to block his view. _All that pain, and he still thinks of pleasing me first._ She grabbed Irri’s hair tighter.

“Eyes on me,” Dany commanded, between shorter, shallower breaths. He met her gaze with his good eye, and struggled to open the other. _Struggle harder._

“Watch me closely. _This--_ ” A groan of pleasure interrupted her thought. “ _T_ _his_ is how I look when a slut does its job.” She threw another olive at him, because she could. “ _This_ is how I looked last night while another man fucked me.”

Jon may not have even heard her. He was smart enough to be terrified of averting his eyes; even the one he could barely open. But his face was pure agony. No anger, no lust, no craving to please her. Only pain and fear.

Dany threw Irri onto her back so her head was at the foot of the bed, and mounted her face before training her gaze back on Jon. “The _only_ thing that matters in your bastard life is putting that look on my face.” She clenched her teeth. “ _Do you understand?!_ ”

Jon nodded like he had a knife at his throat. He may as well have. She lifted the head of his cock and dragged the nail of her pinky finger slowly down from the head to between his balls. It would have been unpleasant any day, but the ointment made the pain a hundred times worse. Jon’s face was red, and he bit down on the gag like she were sawing his leg off. _Not crying, though. Pity._

To rectify the matter, she dragged her nail back up to the head, letting it come to rest outside his cock’s eye. Jon’s eyes widened in as much terror as Dany had ever seen in him, and she’d seen him fight a horde of dead men. She looked up, consumed with a base need to hurt and control and subjugate this man whose heir she hoped she was carrying.

Dany noticed that she was riding Irri’s face as mercilessly as she’d ever ridden a man’s cock. _That’s why you were born, slut._ She gave the girl just enough respite for a few deep breaths, and resumed as if it had never happened.

On instinct, Jon tried with all his strength to pull away from her, but her grip on his cock was too strong. “Do you want me to slip?! Do you think that will hurt less than what I’m about to do to you?”

Dany felt Jon fighting his own body, forcing it to relax. When he held still for a moment, she teased her fingernail across the hole; not hard enough to cut him, or even scratch, but more than enough to hurt him so badly that his mind shed everything that made him human.

His screams for mercy were constant, and the sensation from the ointment made them nearly as dreadful to hear as a man being burned alive. That felt as good as the mouth on her cunt, and she had to close her eyes to purge the thoughts of her father. _This is too good to stop for my fucking conscience._

“Your cock is mine, your ass is mine, and every inch of the rest of you is mine,” Aerys II’s daughter told Ned Stark’s ward. “Your mind and your soul are mine. This savage little cuntslave underneath me is mine.” She gave him another drag of her fingernail. “This castle is mine.” And another. “This Realm is mine.” And another. “This whole _world_ is mine because I fucking _want_ it.” And another, and another, and another.

She dug it in, then twisted her finger to align her nail with the hole and pushed it in and turned it like a key in a door. It only penetrated him a hair's width, but that was more than enough. “I will take it, because I can," she continued, shouting over his wails. "And you’ll fight under my command. I’m the mother of your fucking child, and you’ll _die_ for me if you must. Won’t you?!” She scratched the underside of his cock like a cat with a mouse. “ _WON’T YOU!!_ ”

Jon only sobbed and convulsed, but she saw the answer in his eyes.

“That’s right. Because there is _nothing_ more important than being an obedient, servile little _WHORE_ for your living goddess!” The word “whore” was her tipping point. Dany kept her wits about her long enough to allow Irri another deep breath, then pressed her cunt down and screamed at the top of her lungs, coating the girl’s face faster than she could lick it up. 

Dany threw herself back toward the pillows and let Irri sit up and breathe. “Did I hurt you, sweetling?” She managed to shoot Jon a filthy grin. _You, I know about already._

Irri coughed, took a few deep breaths, and smiled. Her face looked like someone had thrown a bucket of water in it. “Yes, _Khaleesi,_ but well within your right.” _That was the best answer I’ve ever heard,_ Dany thought, but she studied Irri’s face to make certain it was true.

Her severity surprised even herself. _I must be with child._ She hoped she was, or she might have to face what else could have driven her to that.

Irri slid up and nuzzled Dany’s chest in a way that made her want to stitch the girl’s head in place so she could never leave. They cuddled and fed each other olives, watching Jon’s anguished screams die down into exhausted, distressed panting. Dany looked out the window. _Gods be damned, it’s almost noon._

“Here, sweetling,” Dany rolled over and pulled her whip and cock from the drawer next to their bed. “Do with him as you please, but don't fuck him until he stops crying.” She smiled and gave her slut a long, slow, kiss, then dressed herself and left for the Small Council chamber, slapping Jon playfully on the ass as she went.

Dany entered the chamber hurriedly, underdressed and embarrassed at how late she was. The room rose. “Sit. My apologies.”

She sat opposite Davos, between Tyrion and Sam. Next to Tyrion was some child she'd never seen before. Dany looked at him quizzically. He looked back like he would rather jump out the window than address her. 

“Did you adopt some orphan boy?” She asked Tyrion, jokingly. “If so, you should apologize in advance.”

“Your Grace, this is Ser Podrick Payne. He was my squire when I was Hand to King Joffrey, he saved my life on the Blackwater, and he's my new Bronn.”

Her Grace immediately lost interest in making this boy feel comfortable. “Your ‘new Bronn,’” she repeated. “Have you told him what happened to your old Bronn?”

“Of course,” Tyrion replied. “This one does everything Bronn did, but he pisses himself the mere notion of your existence. You will get along famously.”

Dany smiled, but remained unconvinced. “And what, precisely, did Bronn do?”

“He found me whores…”

 _You're Tyrion Lannister. You can't find your own whores?_ Her stare asked for her.

“...And he distracted me from hating myself,” the Hand confessed.

 _Then what do the whores do?_ She regarded the boy again, and admitted that he had a certain charm.

“Very well, then.” She turned to Podrick. “We can forego the courtesies. Welcome.” She gave him the warmest, most benevolent smile she could give. Still, the boy was petrified. _Has Tyrion gone mad, and started carrying around a gargoyle to recommend whores for him?_

“Thank you, Your Grace,” he eked out. _Thank the gods._  

“We were discussing the Royal Fleet,” Tyrion explained.

“How bad is it?” Dany assumed they'd suffered great losses.

“Not as bad as we feared,” Davos explained. “When the Volantenes scattered us, they saved us from being smashed in one big battle.”

As he rattled off how many ships were in which ports, Dany motioned for Sam to hand her a parchment and quill, which he did. 

 _'As of last night, everything from the Rhoyne to New Ghis is mine,’_ Dany wrote, before looking up at Davos. “I apologize, my lord. I’m listening, go on.”

Davos continued.

 _‘In accordance with your wise counsel, he finished in my ass.'_ She took her time with the signature, smiling to herself as she made it as absurdly ornate as she could, before sliding it over to Tyrion.

The Hand read the note, coughed, finished his cup of wine, then poured and finished a second.

“We should keep it simple,” Davos concluded. “Let them stay where they are, and send them back to their regular patrols once they've repaired.”

 _That would have been excellent advice yesterday._ “Send half the fleet to the Stepstones, with sufficient men to garrison and hold them. The remainder will sail for King’s Landing as soon as they're seaworthy.”

“Your Grace--” Davos cautioned, with all the best intentions.

She cut him off. “Every shipyard in Westeros shall work day and night until we have twice the strength as before the war.” The room shifted uncomfortably in their chairs, as men tended to do when she made such pronouncements. _Very well._ “Thrice.”

“Your Grace, you shouldn't put too many ships in one port and leave the rest undefended. You have a whole continent to think about.”

 _All this time, and they still don't know who I am._ “I've thought about it quite a bit, my lord.” She smirked one of her half-mad, fiery, bloody smirks. “And I’d like a second.”


	11. Jon III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We should start back."
> 
> \--Gared, _A Game of Thrones,_ Prologue

Jon woke to warm, soft flesh sliding against the sides of his face. He licked his lips to prepare himself, and squeezed in a yawn before Dany lowered herself onto his mouth.

Summer was nearly upon them. The night was hot and full of sweating, and her cunt smelled and tasted unmistakably like a cunt. More strongly so than he would have preferred for so early in the morning, but Jon had sworn a vow to service Her Grace’s royal person as she required it, and it would take far more than some musk for him to break that oath.

Dany's gasps were soft, and Jon took care not to excite her too quickly or fiercely. Irri was asleep on the far end of the bed, precious and tranquil as always, but the girl could be as mean as Gregor Clegane with a bee up his ass if roused too early.

 _The war starts today,_ Jon remembered, as his tongue and Dany’s clit found their rhythm. He would have preferred it not be today, or at all, for that matter. But Pentos sat just across the Narrow Sea, lightly defended and full of slaves, and telling Daenerys not to conquer it was like telling the tide not to rise.

“Wake up, slut,” Dany whispered as they both grew more awake and she began to roll her hips more deliberately. Jon had learned not to interrupt his cunt worship for a mere salutation, so all he did was look up lovingly at her.

Her thighs concealed his face so she wouldn’t be able to tell, but he was blushing. _I’ll always be your slut._ Jon had never truly been a slut, of course. Before Dany there had only been Ygritte, and he had no desire to fuck a horde of women indiscriminately.

But that wasn't how she meant it. It was a term of endearment, a testament to how she'd bent him so completely to her will. She demanded so much of him. She taught him so much about himself. She pushed him far beyond where he was comfortable, and when it was over, she gave him back the comfort she’d taken away, and gifted him with more love than he knew any person could give another. She showed him how many things he could find the strength to do if he put everything else aside and worried only about her pleasure. _Only hers._ Each time he surrendered to her, she freed his mind of one more lie that others had told him about who he was.

Most men would simply never understand. They saw women as prey, to be subdued and conquered. Jon understood the instinct well enough, and he knew that women like a bit of persistence, but he was never one to see a woman and resolve to have her at any cost. He’d always found too much persistence distasteful, and preferred women who wanted him as much as he wanted them, and who weren’t afraid to show it.

Ygritte was like that. If anything, he had been her prey. Ygritte had never fucked him in spite of her better judgment. She fucked him because it was plain to her that he was worth fucking. He didn’t have to say all the trite nonsense that so many men say to a woman they want to bed, and that so few truly mean. When she took him, it was because she wanted him for who he was.

He would always remember Ygritte fondly, but Daenerys was like none other. She wanted him, that was plain to anyone, but not for the crown, or the name, or even for the cock that may be the only one left in the world that could put an heir in her. She wanted the version of him that only she could make. She saw it inside him before he even knew to look for it, and she never doubted it, even when he insisted it wasn’t there.

Dany grabbed his hair, forcing his eyes to hers. _Nine tenths of her power is in her eyes._ She put a finger over her lips to keep him quiet, and slid down his body. “Who owns this cock?” She whispered as she took it in her hand and lowered herself onto it.

 _‘Only you, Your Grace.’_ His eyes said the words for him. Any other thought was treason, and they both knew Jon was no traitor.

Her voice shook as she whispered, restraining a moan. “And the rest of you.” She stroked her fingers from his temple, down his cheek, and teased around his lips. “Forever.”

“Forever, Your Grace.” Jon vowed, struggling to keep his voice to a whisper as Dany rocked her hips. The daily reminders never grew tiresome. He would rather be her chattel than anyone else’s King. The trappings of kingship made men grow arrogant, and blind to the needs of their people. The best Kings were those who were comfortable on their knees for something greater than themselves. _Valar dohaeris. But Daenerys is not a man._

Her Grace was panting in spite of herself, and Jon sensed her getting close. “ _Mine,"_  she growled under her breath, her purple eyes igniting in the light of the moon, making Jon so lustful and so weak. She slapped him lightly on the cheek to refocus his eyes, and smiled down at him. “Bastard.”

The word still stung, but Dany made him love the sting. As a child, no one bothered telling Jon what he was; only what he wasn’t. The Starks raised him in Winterfell, but insisted he could never be a Stark. Alliser Thorne threw him amongst the baseborn, but insisted he could never truly understand them. The Wildlings called him half a Crow, and the Crows called him half a Wildling. The only thing anyone had ever called him consistently was “Ned Stark’s bastard.” Too lowborn to make something of himself, and too honorable to try. _How convenient for them._

Even when he learned the truth, he knew he'd always be a bastard in his own eyes. His true name could not change his past, any more than it could not change the color of his hair.

Dany plainly thought his blood was important, but begged him not to let it change him. “Your people love you as a King because you rule like a bastard,” she'd explained once. “Like you had to earn it. Like you could lose it at any moment. It keeps you humble. And I love nothing more than when a beloved King humbles himself at my feet.”

 _I'm Her Grace’s bastard._ She was the first to claim him as a kinsman by choice, not obligation. Eddard Stark had given him much and more, but it all came from a duty to his mother. _To him I was a burden, but to her I’m a treasure._ Dany thrust her weight down on him, snapping his attention back to her alone, as if she could sense his thoughts wandering. He thanked her silently. Uncle Ned had no business looming over him in his bedchamber.

A few more thrusts and Jon felt himself starting to pulse. Dany’s grin twisted as the pleasure built up and it became plain he was ready to burst. Just as he reached the edge but before he went over, the Queen hopped off and rolled onto her back between Jon and Irri. _I love you more than anything in the world, but also, I fucking hate you._

Dany spread her legs and set to finishing herself with her hand. Out of desire and training, Jon moved toward her to offer his tongue. Dany swatted him away. With nothing better to do, he moved to finish himself. That only got him another swat at his hand. Out of ideas, Jon watched as Dany bit her lip and worked her clit with her fingers like no fingers could tease any clit unless they were attached to the same wanton slut of a woman. He envied how gracefully she went about it, hoping against hope he'd be able some day to match her. _You're always expendable,_ he reminded himself. _She doesn't need your help._ Not with diddling herself, at least.

As she peaked, Dany thrust her hips and tensed her entire body, reaching over and grabbing his nipple, pinching and twisting, because hurting him always made it that much better for her. She screamed, muffling it by biting her lip, then relaxed, breathed deep, and rolled onto his chest.

Jon put his hand around her shoulder. “So, later, I take it?”

Dany grinned wickedly and bit just below his nipple in response. Jon smiled, as he'd seen this mummer’s show before. _When she’s a cunt in the morning, she’s a debauched whore at night._ This day would not go fast enough. “I love you,” he told her, softly, so as not to wake Irri.

Dany mouthed it back and kissed him softly where she'd just bitten him.

Jon paused. “So do you think--” He didn’t have to finish the question. He'd been asking it one way or another every day for a moon’s turn.

“I still don’t know,” Dany answered.

“Should you really be starting a war if you are? Is that good for the baby?”

“Are you saying I can’t manage a war if I’m with child?” Dany shot back, her eyes making the right answer plain.

“I’m saying the child may not manage it.”

Dany propped up her head on her elbow, and paused. “You think this war is folly, don’t you?” She wasn’t angry, but Jon sensed this was his last chance to tell the truth.

He took a breath to collect his thoughts. “I know how important this is to you. If the slave trade still exists, you’re going to smash it, and I would be a fool and a bad husband to try and stop you,” he began. “But if you’re asking me if we should drape every city from here to Qarth in dragon banners, then yes, that's folly.”

Dany nodded, knowing he said it out of love, and loving him back for saying it, but still unmoved.

“The land you mean to take is the size of all of Westeros. How easy was Westeros to rebuild? To make peace and keep it? We may die before we’re done. We’d be in debt forever if we hadn’t turned our biggest creditor to ashes and stolen their gold. We don’t know the politics in the Free Cities like we do here. And that’s _if_ we win, which is no certainty. The supply lines alone...we’ll have to--”

“Is this about Daario?” Dany cut him off.

 _Do you think me that petty? Also, fuck Daario. Also, please tie me to a chair and make me watch you fuck Daario._ “No, but he doesn’t help matters. Everything about that man makes me want to punch him in his smug fucking face.”

Dany laughed. “Well, think of this war as a race across the world to punch Daario Naharis in his smug fucking face.” She grinned. “I give you leave, as long as I can watch.”

Jon smiled for a heartbeat, but it quickly vanished. “As much as I'm certain that would please us both, I can’t bring myself to send thousands of men to their deaths for it.”

She stroked his cheek. “We can’t walk into the war council divided, my love.” She knew that no matter what happened in their bedchamber, when it came to matters of state, Jon had no qualms speaking his mind. “We must resolve this.”

Jon always marveled at how seamlessly his Queen could change from tyrant to lover to politician. He looked in her eyes. “I can speak in favor of taking Pentos. It’s close, and weak. We’ll talk about the rest later.” _She’s a damn good_ _politician_.

“And if they want to talk about the rest today?”

“Then I’ll change the subject.” _This is as good as you’ll get, my love._ Dany knew that, and seemed satisfied.

They both turned suddenly, as a disoriented slap landed on Dany's ass.

“ _Ssshhhhhhhhh!! Stop that right now! I command it!_ ” Irri was only half awake, and slurring her words. Dany and Jon couldn't help but smile. She grabbed Jon’s pillow from under him, called him the Dothraki phrase for a cat-fucking pile of shit and piss and horse semen, and slammed the pillow down over her head.

Jon cursed and Dany cackled, as his head hit the wall behind him. Irri groaned, knowing she wouldn't go back to sleep. She threw the pillow back at him and staggered toward the privy, making all manner of obscene gestures behind her as she went.

The Small Council table was packed that morning: Tyrion, Davos, Grey Worm, Varys, Gendry, Lady Arianne, Lady Asha, and Missandei, whom Irri had named her Hand. Dany wore her armor and Conqueror’s crown, lest anyone misjudge her feelings on the matter of war. Irri wore her finest riding leathers, which made the same point on a Dothraki  _Khaleesi._

“I know some of you are still unconvinced,” Dany admitted as she sat. _Most, in truth._ “And I will not have it said that I silenced dissent among my advisors. You are all welcome to make your case. I can't say I'm inclined to agree, but I'll give you a chance to persuade me.”

Jon scanned the room. Irri, Grey Worm, Missandei, and Lady Greyjoy looked unwaveringly confident in Dany. The Easterners would march through all seven hells for the chance to kill one more slaver, and the Ironborn had all been spoiling for a chance to redeem themselves after the Volantenes humiliated them. The rest merely shifted uncomfortably and looked to someone else.

“Well? Go on, speak! No harm will come to you.”

Tyrion sighed, and assumed the burden himself. “With all due respect, Your Grace, I know this war will go on, and I will do everything I can to help you win it. But as your Hand, I must say one last time that I fear this is folly.” Dany looked at him, calm but annoyed. “We’re in no position to fight other men’s wars for them. All of your Lords Paramount have complained about this, because their bannermen have complained to them. And if the slavers burn the land outside the city as the Yunkish did, it will be near impossible to maintain a supply line.” It was precisely what Jon had said.

Dany was ready for that. “We can manage, my lord. We _will_ take take Pentos, and once we vanquish the slavers, the supply lines to the rest of the cities will maintain themselves.” Jon shot a look at Davos. _Shall we ask Lord Stannis of Winterfell about that?_

“Once we vanquish the slavers, the city chooses rulers who aren't incompetent or corrupt, and the fields are fertile again,” Tyrion corrected her. “That could take years, at best.”

“I’m a patient woman,” Dany protested impatiently. Jon’s incredulous side-eye did not go unnoticed by the others. “I did it in Meereen, and I'll do it again.” _But you hated every moment you spent in Meereen._

“Lord Tyrion is right,” Jon put in. “It will take years to bring these cities to heel.” The Queen glared, but Jon matched it. _Let me finish, Your Patience._ “But we need not plan for _all_ of these cities in one meeting. We’re here to discuss Pentos, and none doubt they’re ripe for the taking. They have no army, a tiny fleet, and no cause to do anything but surrender lest they meet the same fate as Braavos. Let’s take it, hold it, and decide what to do next once we’ve actually seen the land.” He looked at Dany, who nodded her relieved approval.

Tyrion seemed disappointed, and looked to Irri to confirm his suspicion that the royal triad would not be dissuaded. “ _Khaleesi?_ ”

Irri straightened her spine and folded her soft, dainty hands on the table. “I know you were auctioned once,” she told the Hand, emphasizing the word 'once,' derisively, “but those of us from the East are the only ones in this room who truly understand what it means to be bred and sold like livestock. Her Grace’s opinion on the war is clear, as is my Hand’s. The Unsullied have given us no opinion, because they were tortured so badly as children that they're still not certain they're allowed to have one. If I were Queen then, we would never have abandoned these cities when we sailed west.”

That may have been the first time since her marriage to Hizdahr zo Loraq that anyone accused Dany of being too merciful to slavers. The room raised their eyebrows in unison, except Dany, who gazed lovingly and nodded for her to go on.

“Freeing slaves is _never_ folly, my lord,” the _Khaleesi_ continued, her crown glistening under the light of the chandelier. “And in my presence, there is no way to suggest such a thing with ‘all due respect.’” Her words dripped with a slimy contempt. “You would be wise to remember that, and guard your tongue in the future.”

 _Your first burnt Lannister._ Jon nodded and flashed her a proud, loving smirk. _Welcome to the family._

“My apologies, _Khaleesi._ That was harsh and unbecoming of me,” said Tyrion, plainly regretting his words.

Irri smiled sweetly. “It’s forgiven, my lord.”

She was still a shy, sweet girl most of the time, but on some things she could be every bit as iron-willed as Dany. She was still learning, though. _Freeing slaves may not be folly, but going to war with no way to feed your army is the height of it,_ Jon could not help but note. But he and Dany had learned their share of lessons as well in the beginning, and the more he watched Irri, the more he envied and admired her ability to learn so quickly. He admired her so greatly, in fact, that he had to adjust his breeches.

Dany was beaming with pride, like a mother who had just taught her child how to walk. “Would anyone care to rebut the _Khaleesi?_ ” She scanned the table. No one cared to rebut the _Khaleesi._ “I thought not.” Dany turned to Lady Greyjoy. “Are we ready?”

“More than ready, Your Grace. We can sail on the evening tide.” Nearly all of the Iron Fleet sat in the harbor, and they would make up the bulk of the invasion force. “My men have been pissing wildfire for weeks.” _This whole war could be over lemon cakes, for all they care,_ Jon wagered.  _They just want to smash into things._   _T_ _hough perhaps that’s for the best._

The plan was simple enough. The Iron Fleet would blockade the Bay of Pentos and demand surrender. If the Pentoshi refused to bend the knee, Dany would arrive on dragonback to raze some towns along the coast and remind them of the price of defiance. Only if they still refused would they land soldiers to besiege the city, and only if the siege went poorly would Dany make good on her threat to destroy it.

“I’ve heard reports from the winesinks, Your Grace,” Varys cautioned Dany. “Some of your officers have noted your conspicuous absence from the front lines. They say that if freeing this city were so important, you’d be leading the fleet.”

“I’ve led more than my share of fleets,” Dany reminded the eunuch, plainly insulted and annoyed. _Aye, but have you led a fleet of late?_ “If these men can’t storm a beach on their own, put their heads on spikes so they can stay here with me.”

Varys nodded at the Queen.

 _That’s not enough._ Jon spoke up. “You should at least go down to the docks and speak to the men before they sail, my love. You can kill the officers who said those things, but that won’t stop the rest from thinking them.”

Varys grimaced. _What, will the cobblestone ruin your slippers?_ Despite having proven surprisingly loyal to his wife, Jon still saw Varys as the embodiment of everything wrong with King’s Landing. The eunuch knew it, too. “My King,” he addressed Jon cautiously, choosing each word like a crone picking out fruit at a market. “The city is overrun with soldiers. The crowds will be massive, and the docks are chaos.”

Jon turned back to Dany. “Aye, and if you can’t be bothered to leave the Red Keep because the docks are too crowded, what does that say to the men you’re sending to run through a storm of arrows for you?”

“His Grace is right. They need to see you,” Tyrion concurred. “We shouldn’t assume that all of them back you as fervently as you're accustomed. No Targaryen has ever claimed Pentos as his birthright.” _Oh, did you not get the raven? The whole world is her birthright, now, ever since that fool came to town with some heads in a box and buggered her._

Dany nodded at Jon. “You’re right, my love. We should go.”  
  
The rest of the meeting was filled with the more tedious parts of war planning, and Jon felt his mind drifting. Dany had denied him his pleasure after letting him into her cunt, which was near as cruel as anything she could inflict with a whip.  _‘Later,’ she said._ He meant to hold her to it.  
  
The royal triad returned to their bedchamber when the meeting was over, and Jon was barely through the threshold when he began to undress himself. _It is ‘later,’ after all._ But something stopped him in his tracks. _That was selfish_.

Dany’s eyes agreed with his assessment. She raised an eyebrow. “And what, pray tell, do you think you’re doing?” She wasn’t angry, but brandished an almost gleeful smile at having caught him in a moment of weakness.

He blushed. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. I wasn’t thinking. Please forgive me.”

Dany turned toward him and lifted his shirt over his head. “No, my love, you _were_ thinking.” She ran her hands down his chest, teasing his nipples with her thumbs. “That’s your problem. You think too much. That never ends well for you, does it?” She began to unlace his breeches, her voice softening. “Forsake your own thoughts for mine. It will free you.”

When she kissed his cheek, it was as if the war and the council meeting were but a dream. _I’m sorry, I should know that by now._ “Thank you, Your Grace.”

She yanked his breeches down to his ankles. “Get out of those, and kneel.” Her tone was kindly, as if she were already certain he’d make up for it. Irri sat on the bed cross-legged, like a child about to watch a puppet show.

Jon obeyed her command, knelt, and looked up at his Queen, still in her armor. He wanted to clutch her legs and never let go, or kiss her boots out of gratitude for her very existence, or spill his seed on the floor and lick it up, because he knew that amused her. But he was there because he'd acted without thinking, and doing any of that without her leave would only prove him the insolent little shit she’d taught him not to be.

“Shall we punish you?” Dany asked, petting him. He should have known better, but Her Grace was patient with him. He acted out of his innate weakness, and as a man, that was to be expected. It was always hard for him to make the switch from King to slave, and sometimes he forgot what it meant when a door closed behind them and the world went away.

“Please, Your Grace.” _Did you think I’d refuse you?_

“Very well,” Dany kissed him softly on the forehead. “But first, a gift for my sweet pet.” From under the bed, Dany retrieved a box and placed it in Jon’s hands. “Open it.”

Inside was a small steel cage of an odd size and shape, the purpose of which escaped him for a moment. He looked up at her, bemused, until it hit him.

Dany tweaked his nose playfully. _I must have made the pouty face again._ “Why would I let your cock out whilst I punish you for presuming I’d let your cock out?” She asked him, still more amused than wroth. _You are a twisted one, my love._ Her fingers ran down his cheek, melting away all the protestations in his mind about how his precious cock would wither up and die if she locked it in a cage. _Please twist me, too. Bind me to you, and never let me go._

For as long as he’d known the joy of playing with his cock, Jon had secretly wished he could curb the temptation to play with it so damned often. But his cock was his weakness, and like most men, soon or late he always succumbed to the urge. _Thank you, Your Grace._ He knew she meant this to show him he was stronger than most men.

Dany smirked. “Rise.”

Jon rose to his feet, puzzling with the cage. “How do I--”

She took the cage from him, grinning ear to ear. “You stand still while I do it,” she giggled.

Blushing, Jon handed the cage to Dany and let her affix it to him. Her hands on his cock made him stir, which made the cage feel that much more constricting once he was locked inside. It throbbed and pulsed until it filled the cage, aching a dull, mind-clouding ache when it had nowhere left to go. _Don’t touch it. Show her she’s caged your mind as well._

“Snug?” She asked, still bursting with a warped excitement.

“Yes, Your Grace.” He paused. “I love you.” They both knew that, but when their blood was this hot and their minds this debauched, it went unspoken. Yet there was an unexpected romance to the moment that compelled him to say it aloud.

“As do I, sweet nephew.” She looked over his shoulder and motioned for her sweetling.

Irri seemed to know precisely what came next, and dragged over a chair and a cord of rope. _So this is what they talk about when they get their toenails painted._ Dany pressed lightly on Jon’s chest, and he sat compliantly as Irri tied his ankles to the legs of the chair.

“Hands on your knees,” Dany commanded. Jon gripped his kneecaps until his knuckles turned white.  _Do you see me, Your Grace? Is that good enough?_

Once he was good and bound, Jon watched as Irri helped Dany out of her armor, transforming her from conqueror to Queen to woman to goddess. His mind scrolled through what seemed like every time he’d seen her naked; from above her, behind her, on his back, and on his knees. Every way her body could writhe and rock and bend. The awe and fear and blind lust it could strike in him all at once. _I will never, ever tire of it._ The more he thought, the more painful the throbbing became. _Use the pain. It’s a gift. Let it remind you how lucky you are._ That was the point, of course.

Irri stripped as well, stuffed Jon’s mouth with the wanton sliver of black silk she called smallclothes, and joined Dany on the bed. Since her coronation, Irri spent her free time riding, swimming, even dabbling in water dancing. She’d always been beautiful, but the exercise had defined her muscles just as much as a soldier’s, though they were still distinctly feminine.

She reminded him almost of a copper-skinned Ygritte. But the Wildling’s body had been shaped by a life of endless walking and fighting and eating off the land, leaving her muscles tense and wiry, and her frame almost too skinny. Irri’s body was nourished but not overfed; amply worked but not exhausted. _It’s the body of a woman who can afford to sit on her ass all day, but chooses not to,_ Jon realized.

“Watch and suffer, bastard. Lust for what you can’t have,” Dany commanded, looking dead in his eyes as she yanked Irri closer to her, her voice suddenly devoid of the sweet playfulness that had filled it just moments earlier. “Close your eyes and I’ll fuck you bloody, I swear it.” The Dothraki whore bit her neck and teased her with a finger between her lower lips. Dany gasped, and Jon could sense her cunt flooding. “I _fucking_ swear it.” She was fighting to keep her violet eyes narrow, but Irri was too good with her hands.

“Yes, Your Grace,” he mumbled through Irri’s smallclothes. Jon’s terror at the prospect of a merciless raping was unnervingly brief. Part of him craved the pain, helplessness, and utter loss of his dignity that came with it, but he knew better than to provoke her.

The talk of war had roused the tyrant in her, and Daenerys was in no mood to let some upjumped serving wench toy with her cunt as she pleased. She pushed Irri onto her back and slid on top of her, grinding against her thigh. Irri seemed to anticipate that and looked up at her, almost daring her to do her worst.

Dany brought her left hand all the way behind her head and smacked her worthless slut with all her might, her shoulder muscles flexing on the downswing. _You wanted her worst_... Irri yelped and instinctively brought her hand to her cheek, but Dany caught it and pinned her arm above her head. With her other hand, she slid two fingers into Irri’s cunt, making no effort to be gentle. “Do you think I want anything else but to rape you?!” She roared.

Irri struggled, but knew she’d already lost. “No, _Khaleesi!_ ” The sweet girl shouted, her voice already starting to quiver. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Dany rolled her thumb over Irri’s clit and stroked her fingers back and forth. “You’re sorry.” Irri moaned in spite of herself and arched her back. Dany spat in her face. “Look at you,” she sneered. “Your own body betrays what a lying cunt you are. You love this. You _need_ this.”

 _Of course she needs it. The world needs it._ Suddenly, all those reservations about the war seemed like utter nonsense. _Of course she’ll win. She always wins. Nothing in this world can stop her from taking what’s hers, and we’re all hers to take. The world is her birthright._ He chided himself for mocking the notion earlier. _Stop thinking, bastard. Play your part in her destiny._

Irri had no choice but to admit the truth of Dany’s words. “Yes, _Khaleesi!_ Use your savage whore, please, I beg you! Hurt me! Make me cry! Show me what I am!”

 _She liked that._ Dany didn’t say it, but Jon knew his Queen, and nothing made her cunt wetter than a desperate plea for the insatiable beast inside her. He felt the dull ache in his cock again as it pressed against the metal. _She knew this would happen. The harder I get, the more it will hurt._ The thought itself made him harder, and proved itself correct. Dany was a master at turning his instincts into a weakness, and his weakness into the source of ever-worsening agony. _Just as her father did to Brandon Stark._ He wondered if she meant it that way, or if it simply ran in her blood.

Dany pressed down on Irri’s neck and thrust her fingers into the girl’s cunt with all her strength, leaving them there and pressing deeper. “You know precisely what you are,” she growled. “You’re the horse-fucking rape toy who doesn’t so much as _breathe_ without my leave.” She squeezed her rape toy’s throat to emphasize the point. _This is only a drop of the Dragon’s blood inside her._ “You will rule this world by my side, but in here you will _never_ be more than this.” _And if she’s wise, she won’t want to be._

Irri reached for Dany’s arm as she squeezed her neck tighter, but Dany simply pressed harder into her sweetling’s cunt and curled her fingers. She smirked, pressed her slut’s head deeper against the pillow with her eyes alone, and rutted against her thigh like a feral dog taking a bitch.

“You know better than to resist me.” Dany’s voice was low and thick. “I’ll let you breathe when you deserve it. And who decides when you deserve it?”

Irri’s eyes widened and met Dany’s, drowned in pure and perfect submission. Her Grace had denied her the privilege of words and gestures to answer the question, but there was no need. _The eyes say it all._

“And you’ll let me do it. That’s why you’re my sweetling. That’s why I crowned you.” The evil in Dany’s gaze softened, satisfied that she’d trampled the girl’s will into dust. She kept her hand on Irri’s throat, but loosened her grip, letting the girl gasp for air as her fingers set to slow, loving strokes inside her sweet slut’s cunt. “That’s why I’d die for you.” Dany removed her fingers and slid them toward Irri’s lips. “Open.”

Irri opened her mouth before Jon even knew what she said. _I must learn to be that good._ “Suck,” Her Grace commanded as her fingers went into the girl’s mouth. “Taste your own filth. Taste what my madness does to you.”

Irri whimpered, closed her eyes, and collapsed into a mindless mass of flesh. Jon’s own mouth began to water, and he lamented that her other hand was out of reach.

A royal finger down the throat meant one of two things. When she was in a playful, teasing mood, it meant she wanted it sucked like a cheap whore would suck a man’s cock. She loved that, especially with Jon, because she knew it made him agonize over whether he’d enjoy the real thing, and what, if anything that meant.

 _‘You would, and it only means what you allow it to,’_ she'd taught him. But he’d been told for so long by so many people that it determined the very existence of his manhood, and he couldn’t help but twist himself into knots over it. _I love when you rape my mind,_ he wanted to tell her, because that was how it felt. But he was gagged, and Dany would have raped more than his mind for speaking out of turn, so he guarded his tongue like a good boy.

But Dany was well past teasing. In these moments, her fingers were a command for Irri to close her eyes and forget everything she’d learned from the moment she left her mother’s womb. To become utterly blank and shapeless. To know nothing but the thoughts and sensations that Dany saw fit to allow her. Her Grace was entranced with her own power, and Jon could not take his eyes away. It was as if she had changed from a woman on a bed to a presence that filled the entire room; the castle; the world. As if her perfect, silver-haired body were merely a tool she used to command her slaves, her armies, the sun and the stars and the tides, all to bend and break and reshape themselves at her pleasure, like hot steel in a forge.  _She is fire made flesh._

Jon had once heard that just before a man freezes to death, he feels a warm, peaceful feeling, beckoning him to stop fighting, and promising to keep him safe when he finally closes his eyes. That was how he felt when Daenerys took him that way. There was no need to think about how to feed an occupied Pentos, or what Lyanna Mormont thought of sending men to die on some foreign shore in the name of Dany’s notions of justice. There was only the sound of the words she spoke, and the nebulous feelings they brought forth inside him as his mind escaped the memory that at some point he'd known how to speak a language.

Jon closed his eyes and tried to slip into that state himself, but it was futile without Dany’s touch. He gave up after what seemed like an instant, and fell violently back into reality with a sting across his face, a tug on his hair, and a gag pulled from his mouth. “Are you truly that stupid?!” Dany’s eyes trapped his as soon as they opened, and would not let go. Her voice filled his mind and rightly drowned out all else. “What did I say?”

 _Shit, shit, shit._ “I’m so sorry, Your Grace, I swear, I just--”

She pinched both nipples and twisted. “ _Fuck_ what you swear. Answer my question. _What did I say?!_ ”

“Don’t close my eyes!” Jon gritted his teeth and turned his face away instinctively.

 _Am I truly that stupid?_ Dany grabbed him by the chin and pulled him back. “And what did you do?” Her stare was cold, cruel, and terrifying.

“I closed my eyes, Your Grace. I’m sorry. I envied Irri and imagined myself in her place. I put myself before you. I failed you." _'Don't just confess your deeds,'_ she'd taught him.  _Confess your thoughts. They're every bit as sinful._  Please, please make me a better man.” He knew that meant pain, but from Daenerys, pain was a gift. It cleansed him, and after what he'd just done, he knew he needed cleansing.

Dany grabbed Jon’s chair from behind and lowered it onto the floor, putting Jon onto his back. She stood over him with his head between her feet, letting him take in her perfect legs and the wet, hungry cunt between them. He felt the metal weighing down his cock, and realized how utterly irrelevant it truly was. Some force pulled his eyes back to hers. _How does she do that?_

“I was close to taking my pleasure, you know.” She raised an eyebrow and let him whimper in shame and contrition, then spat down onto his face and dragged her foot back and forth to rub it in. “So was my whore. But somehow, neither of us have had it yet,” she explained with a calm, icy fury. “She’s all alone on the bed, and I’m here standing over some disrespectful little shit. Do you think either of us are happy about that, bastard?”

“No, Your Grace. I’m sorry.” His voice was tremulous.

Dany knelt and positioned his head between her knees, facing his helpless, useless cock. “Finish me.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Jon closed his eyes, squeezed her cheeks, and lost himself in obedience.

“Come here, slut,” he heard his Queen beckon. He felt the girl’s presence between the legs of the chair as Dany leaned forward and grabbed Jon’s caged cock in her fist. Her Grace tugged on the cage and the pestilent flesh inside it, “This, sweetling, is why you’re standing here, and not in my arms on the bed.”

“A vile thing, _Khaleesi._ ”

The words didn’t hurt, as he’d made his peace with the truth of them. Jon knew these women loved him more than anything and took great pleasure from his body, but Dany had taught him that all men felt an undeserved pride in their cocks. They all think theirs is magic and can please a woman like none other, and they’re all wrong. _‘It pleases YOU,’_ she told him once, whilst squeezing and twisting it with a pair of iron pincers. _‘And you let it trick you into thinking you’re more than you are.’_ Jon had never been one to brag about his lovemaking, but he knew it was true. _‘No man can be good with his cock until he forsakes it for the woman’s pleasure.’_ His Queen’s words echoed in his mind, as they often did.

“Vile indeed,” Dany told her sweetling. Without warning she leaned forward, and bit down on the cage, hard enough that she could easily have torn into the flesh if not for the metal. Jon nearly pissed himself. He instinctively gasped and tried to squirm away, but there was nowhere to go. _The cage protects you,_ he told himself, as soon as it passed. _She wouldn’t have done that otherwise._ She was teaching him fear, and reminding him of who she was and what she could do with the power he’d granted her, but she would always keep him safe. _You will never understand how lucky you are,_ he thought, as he felt her cunt pulse from the terror she’d so effortlessly struck into his core.

“Vile, and crippling,” she continued. “It weakens him. It distracts him from more important things.” _So true, Your Grace._ “He should have learned that when his cousin Robb had his throat cut open, but it seems he's more dim-witted than we thought." That one cut him deep. It ripped open an old wound, but even worse was its truth.  _I will never truly learn, will I?_  One more reason to be grateful for the iron hand that ruled him.

"Remind him what happens when he puts himself before us.” Dany commanded as she dragged her nails up and down Jon’s thighs and reached back for a fistful of his hair.

That made him throb again, just as he felt Irri forcefully smack the cage. The weight of the steel made it flop to one side and roll back helplessly. Foolishly, he tried to flex it, as if that would impress them.

 _Her cunt, you dolt!_ Jon began to stroke his tongue against Dany's clit, because it was far more important than his pain. Her hips rocked and she purred softly, as if to reward him for remembering his place.

“More,” Dany commanded.

Jon wasn’t certain if that command was meant for him or Irri. _Makes no matter. Stop thinking. Give her more._ He grabbed her soft, perfect cheeks again and squeezed, pressing himself closer against her, his nose burying itself near her ass. Dany gasped softly and moaned, just as Irri smacked his cock back to the other side. This time he barely paid it any mind. _Better. Like that,_ she said, her voice already inside his mind.

“ _More,_ slut! Are you a Queen or a weak little handmaiden?! _FUCKING hurt him!_ ”

He felt the pressure of Irri’s heel on his balls, softly at first, then harder, and harder, and harder, until he groaned in pain.

“Yes, yes, yes, _more!_ Crush them!” Dany demanded, her voice thick and drunk with lust. The harder Irri pressed, the more fervently Jon devoured Dany’s cunt to take his mind off the pain, and the two slaves found themselves competing for who could worship her more fervently. _Just as she intended. Just as it should be._

“Stop squirming, bastard! I thought those are what made you a man, was that a lie?!” Dany berated him, feeding off of anything she sensed made him question his manhood.

Irri waited until Jon made a noise that sounded like a child about to start wailing, then eased up ever so slightly and held her foot where it was. Jon worried his balls would burst out of their sack and go flying across the room. _They won’t. Stop thinking. Trust her._

The closer Dany got to her peak, the more violently she ground her cunt against his face. Irri pressed down so hard that it numbed his cock, as if he’d never even had one. Dany’s body and soul consumed him. Her taste, her scent, the force of her cunt over his mouth, her thighs and mound dragging themselves back and forth over his stubble, her hands on his chest, her fingers teasing his nipples, threatening them with a cruel, merciless pinch, because who would stop her?

Jon let her wetness flow into his mouth. He wished he could fill a cup with it, and drink it like wine. _Stop it._   _Stop thinking._ _That was your desire, not hers._ But he couldn’t ignore it, so he resolved that if he could not save himself from selfishness, he would use it to her benefit. He growled and pulled her toward him, taking her by surprise and jerking her whole body back. He lapped away furiously, desperately. That made her scream, and sent her cunt pulsing and her hips thrusting wildly.

Irri pressed her foot down harder, feeding off the building passion. “Take what’s yours, _Khaleesi,_ ” she urged, her voice every bit as full of malice as he’d ever heard Dany’s, “while I crush him for your pleasure.”

Dany screamed again, louder, more dragon than woman. She took Irri’s suggestion, marking his face like an animal marks its property; forbidding him to all others; daring them to challenge her rule over him. _Over us all._ Her thighs locked his head as she slammed all her weight down on him, cutting off his breath as she reached her peak. _You can breathe later. This is more important._ The thought reassured him. It meant he’d remembered his lesson. She leaned forward as she came down, releasing him, granting him back the privilege of breathing her air. _Thank you, Your Grace. Thank you, thank you, thank you._

Irri removed her foot. Dany rose and stretched, her feet still on either side of Jon’s head as if he weren’t even there. Desperate for a sign of approval, Jon ran his hands lovingly over her calves.

She looked down and let out a satisfied sigh, smiling warmly and bright-eyed. She knelt beside him and kissed him softly, lovingly, like a bride would kiss her husband after saying her words. He could feel her fingers in his hair, the warmth and softness relaxing his whole body. But she broke the kiss before it could grow into anything more.

“When you closed your eyes, you were thinking with your cock,” she told him, in the same tone she used when she sentenced a criminal.

Jon nodded.

“Does anything good happen when you think with your cock?”

He shook his head. The image of Robb flickered before him again.

“Your cock is a weakness, not a strength. Don’t let it fool you. Do we understand each other?”

Jon nodded again. “Yes, Your Grace. Thank you. I love you.”

Dany smiled, kissed him again, and tugged his earlobe. “I love you too, sweet nephew.” She rose again.

Irri teased her own clit, and looked wantonly down at Jon. “May I, _Khaleesi?_ ” She asked, almost impatiently.

Dany looked at her pensively, then down at Jon, then out the window at the sun. “No, sweetling,” she finally answered, firmly but with a hint of guilt. “If the ships are to sail on the evening tide, we should dress. You'll have yours when we get back, I promise you.”

Irri nodded, annoyed, but not fool enough to say anything. “Thank you, _Khaleesi._ ”

The Queen looked down at Jon again. “Help me with him.” The women set Jon’s chair upright and cut the ropes around his ankles, but he knew better than to stand without Her Grace’s leave.

“This one, though…” she smirked briefly at Jon and eyed the steel mass between his legs again. “Should I let him out?”

Irri pretended to think, but her face gave her away.

“No, best not,” Dany smiled. “I’d rather he wear it under his breeches, so I can watch him squirm while I rally the men.” She stroked his hair, kissed the top of his head and held it against her breast. “He has such a beautiful squirm, doesn’t he?” Jon heard her, but paid no mind. He would gladly suffer far worse to keep his head right where it was.

Irri smiled back. “Maddening, _Khaleesi._ ”

Dany slid a finger into Jon’s mouth. “When we get back, yes?”

Jon nodded as he sucked, already forgetting the word "yes."

They dressed and rode for the docks, in their armor. Dany led the column, with Jon and Irri abreast behind her. Jon fidgeted in the saddle, struggling to find a comfortable way to sit with the cage. Irri spent most of the ride looking at him and grinning like a fool. _It’s a short ride, stop being such a delicate little shit,_ he told himself.

When they reached the Muddy Way, they found that Varys had been right about the chaos. No one had been told to expect them, and their whole retinue, Queensguard and all, may as well have been any other soldiers pressing their way through the mass. Dothraki, Freedmen, Ironborn, and Westerosi mainlanders all fought with each other for one last stick of grilled meat from the market; one last ale; one last round of dice; one last whore.

Dany stopped her horse at the entrance to Fishmonger’s Square, and shouted in the Common Tongue, then Dothraki, then High Valyrian. No one paid her any mind. _She hates that,_  Jon knew. Dany had never let mockery under her skin, and part of her seemed to take great pleasure in being hated by the right people. Being ignored, on the other hand, enraged her. She twisted her body back to Davos, Grey Worm, Lady Asha, and her Bloodriders. “This is absurd. Form them up.”

Davos blew his war horn, which finally got the crowd’s attention. Her generals broke away from the retinue, barking and pointing and shoving through the crowd on their horses, scattering the men every which way, like roaches.

Dany turned to Jon. “Perhaps we should start back," she suggested. "It will take them hours to board, and half of them will miss the evening tide anyway. Let them launch as many ships as they can, and we’ll come back on the morrow and rally whoever’s left.”

It was a sensible notion, but she was sending them to war to liberate people they’ve never met from an injustice they’ve never felt themselves. _She must tell them why they should._ He knew how dangerous it was to neglect that--he could still feel the wounds in his stomach. “If you only speak to half the men, you only dissuade half the deserters.”

The Queen nodded. “You’re right. We’ll stay, then.”

The roaches formed up into columns of men more quickly than Jon expected. They were the most tightly-packed columns he’d ever seen, but columns nonetheless. The triad and their escort kicked their horses forward and squeezed through what passed for an aisle in the center of the formation. The Queensguard hastily assembled a line of crates under the Mud Gate to serve as a makeshift stage. The triad ascended by way of a small ladder.

Dany stood in the center, and began. “Tonight you sail east, to make the Free Cities truly free. And make no mistake, I _will_ join you when you reach Pentos, and I _will_ join you if it comes to battle, and so will the dragons. I will _never_ abandon you in your peril, and for as long as my children and I draw breath, I will _never_ let you die in vain. You have my solemn word.” Jon heard a handful of cheers; a mix of unfailing loyalty from some, and a vow from others to hold her to her promise.

“Many of you were with me in Essos when I sacked these cities and moved on. I'd wager most of you were glad to leave.” She had to acknowledge that, and let them mutter.

“But the Volantenes nearly defeated us,” she reminded them, “and now the world thinks us weak. They think we can't fight our own battles. That we need others to rescue us. So I ask you, does the Kraken need rescue from anyone?”

An angry but sparse “No!” flared up from the crowd. _No, only from themselves._

“Should the greatest reavers the world has ever known be afraid of some fat, boy-fucking cheesemongers?!”

“ _No!!_ ” Jon could sense the rage building.

“Should we let them sit in their manses, eating sweetmeats and mocking us behind our backs?!”

This time was more of a scream than a word. Swords flew from sheaths and thrust into the air. The Ironborn were ready to dive into the water and swim to Pentos if need be.  _She knows exactly what she’s doing._

She turned toward the Dothraki. “Should we let them mock the _khalasars_ they’ve feared for centuries?!”

Not to be outdone by some drunken milk men, the Dothraki followed suit with their _arakhs_ and screamed, even more frenzied.

“Should we relinquish the Great Grass Sea to some purple-haired Cart Kings?!” _Slow down, my love. Remember, we’re only taking Pentos for now._ But he knew Dany would never be content with “only taking Pentos,” and only then did he realize how effortlessly she’d gotten him to pretend otherwise that morning.

Jon wondered how many Dothraki knew what the word “relinquish” meant, as they roared and ululated. One of them loosed a fire arrow over the city wall. _Because we do have an endless supply of those, after all._

Now it was the Freedmen’s turn. “Should we let them think we’ve forgotten what it’s like to be bought and sold?!”

As expected, they were already good and lathered.

“I was bought and sold in Pentos, and I will _never_ forget it! Should we let them hide across the sea and think they’ve escaped us, or should we bring them justice?!”

The Freedmen were the loudest of them all, clamoring violently to quench their never-ending thirst for justice that they would never truly satisfy.

" _What did you say?!_ "

" _JUSTICE!!"_ Somehow, the pirates and nomadic horsemen had forgotten about the plunder and now cared only about justice. " _JUSTICE!!_ "

She pointed behind her. “Then get on these _fucking_ ships and bring it to them!” Half of them screamed and charged forward before remembering there was an order to it.

“Take their manses! Free their slaves! Knock their boywhores’ cocks from their mouths and ram your spears down their fork-bearded gullets!” Jon looked forward to the song they'd make of that one.

“Fight with me!! Take what’s ours!! _DROWN them in fire and blood!!_ ” With that, Dany gave the crowd a final sweeping wave, beaming, her face flush with excitement, every bit as intoxicated with herself as she’d been at the peak of her pleasure earlier. There was no sense in either of her consorts saying anything. What could they say that would match that? _This is what she was born to do._ The world had known that for years, but it was easy to forget how good her best truly was.

She lept off the crate as the officers did their best to form their men back up. Her bloodriders met them behind the stage with their horses.

“We’ll go back on foot,” Dany informed them. “We should walk among the common people, not sit above them and leave a trail of shit in their streets.” She turned to her husband and wife. “Walk with me, my loves.” Dany took their hands and led them between the columns toward the back of Fishmonger’s Square, to greet the swelling crowd of smallfolk gathered behind the soldiers, lining the street back to the Red Keep.

Davos hurried up to Jon as Dany and Irri basked in the adoration of their people. “Your Grace. May I trouble you for a moment?”

Jon broke off from Dany and stepped a few feet away from the crowd. He waved his wives on, and smiled at his Hand. “You wouldn’t be doing your job if you weren’t troubling me.”

“Word from White Harbor is that there are only half the men there should be. Lady Sansa suspects her bannermen are holding back.” _I suspect she’s right. Why would they not?_ This wasn’t the North’s fight, and it was precisely the kind of adventure that Lady Mormont and her supporters had warned that Dany would drag them into.

“Tell her I mean to go up there once we've got Pentos,” Jon replied. “I haven’t been back since I was crowned, and they need to see that I haven’t forgotten them. I’ll meet privately with each one. And we should talk to Daenerys about it before she gets...” _You know how she gets._

“Aye, Your Grace.” Davos took his meaning.

The Queens had built up a lead of about fifty feet. Jon did his best to acknowledge the crowd without stopping for everyone who wanted to shout in his ear about which fishermen were charging too much for cockles. But before he could catch up, one particularly insistent whore managed to grab his arm and launch into a cockle-related tirade regardless.

Cockles were a sore subject in this part of the city, and whenever Jon found himself in the middle of this sort of argument, he pined for another army of dead men. “Cockles make the blood run hot, Your Grace,” the whore prattled on, as if this were just after the White Walkers on his list of problems to solve. “So I lose business without ‘em.”

“Mhm.” Jon noticed Dany out of the corner of his eye, talking to some fisherman, most like about how the whores won’t pay a fair price for his cockles. The Queen looked rapt, as if the war she just started were a trifle compared to this quarrel over shellfish. _I don’t know how she does it._

“It’s like I’m paying  _him_ to get bent over and fucked,” the whore continued. Dany had commanded her guards to step back, so as not to intimidate the commoner. Jon’s eyes narrowed. _Soon or late, that’s bound to--_

Suddenly, Irri pushed Daenerys to one side. _"_ _Khaleesi!"_  She shrieked. There was a terrible fear in her voice that Jon knew would haunt him for the rest of his life, even before he understood what was happening. The whole crowd turned their eyes, screamed, and pushed in every direction. As far as Jon cared, the whore ceased to exist, and he sprinted toward his Queens.

The man who broke through the crowd was too big and too angry to let anyone hold him back. He swatted Irri to the ground and bowled past her. Dany's eyes flashed a terror that Jon had always assumed she was simply incapable of feeling. She barely had time to let out a shriek of her own before the the man grabbed her hair with one hand and swept his scythe through her royal neck with the other.

 _We'll fix it later,_ was all Jon’s mind allowed him to think, as he watched the blood spurting out of what used to be Daenerys Targaryen's neck. The body that made her such a sublime lover and formidable woman collapsed onto the stone. Before he realized it, Longclaw was out. Every sword and spear and _arakh_ in the Queen’s service was out. Unsullied seemed to appear from the ether to block the crowd with a wall of shields. Jon’s vision turned red and narrowed to the man with the scythe, but before he could get close enough to pay him back in kind, a horde of Unsullied knocked the man to the ground. He barely got a glimpse of the man’s face, purple from the weight of a dozen men pinning him down, before Davos spotted him.

“The King!” Davos shouted toward a cluster of Goldcloaks, pointing at Jon. “Guard the bloody King, you shits!!”

The men rushed him. He turned and drew Longclaw back, ready to cut them down, but thought the better of it at the last instant and dropped his sword, letting them tackle him. _Guard her, not me,_ was the last thing he thought before the impact knocked him out cold.

“Blood of my blood…” he awoke, stunned, slumped across Jhogo’s lap on a horse. The Dothraki was holding him in place by his belt. “...Castle…” he couldn’t be bothered to follow the sentence. “... _Now!_ ”

Jon looked back. Everything was silent, and agonizingly slow. Dany's eyes met his one last time, staring up vacantly as her head settled in the gutter. There was no love or lust or longing in them this time. No rage, no joy, nothing but the faint remnants of the fear that was the last thing she’d felt. He could sense he was bleeding, but could not say why or from where.

Jhogo cracked his whip and shouted a stream of Dothraki curses to part the Unsullied and the panicked crowd, kicking his horse into the fastest gallop it could give him on a city street. Jon wanted to do something, but his only duty to the Realm in that moment was to make it back to the Red Keep alive. All he could do was look back as the Unsullied re-formed their shield wall around Dany’s body and cut her off from him forever.

The next thing he saw were the grim faces of Sam and Davos staring down at him in his bedchamber. “Jon…” was all the Grand Maester could say.

He turned his head to the side and spotted his cock cage, cut open and sitting on his bedside table. Both men pretended not to see it, though one of them had plainly taken a saw to it. _Dany will be furious._ Something felt amiss. Jon tried to retrace his thoughts. _There’s a war. We will take Pentos soon. The North mislikes it. The whores pay too much for cockles._

Then he heard the bells. _No, no, no, no, no. She didn't. That's for someone else._

“Tyrion’s sealed all the gates,” Davos blurted out. _What gates?_ Jon still refused to live in a world where this could happen. “You hurt your ankle and busted the back of your head, but you’ll recover.” He hadn't noticed his body hurting until the Hand mentioned it. “The _Khaleesi_ is safe. She’s in the Tower of the Hand. We don’t want the two of you in the same place, in case there are more than one.”

The thought of losing both of his loves in one day finally broke the spell of denial. He looked at Sam, his eyes filling with tears.

Sam shook his head and clasped Jon’s hand. “I’m sorry, Jon.” He looked like he meant to say something, but thought better of it when his eyes met Jon's, and instead simply looked away and exhaled. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t--”

Jon stared at him, finding himself too weak to ask what he wanted to. “Speak.”

Sam turned back to him and hesitated. “She was with child.”

The grey fog that tinged everything in his field of view grew darker. He must have started sobbing, or tried to move, or something.

“No, no, no. Not now. Rest.” Davos held him down. Sam grabbed a flagon from the side table and forced it between his lips. _Dreamwine._ He closed his eyes, and let it drown him.


	12. Irri IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This Mother of Dragons, this Breaker of Chains, is above all a rescuer."
> 
> \--Tyrion, _A Dance With Dragons,_ Tyrion VI

“You’ll be late, _Khaleesi,_ ” Qezza warned.

By law, Irri was Her Grace now, but she couldn’t be bothered to correct the girl. She would rather stay in bed counting cracks in the ceiling while Jon lay next to her, wallowing in the fog of his dreamwine. The King would recover, Sam promised, but he needed bed rest until he could stand without pain. _At least they’ve let us back in the same room._ Irri had no doubt Jon was in agony, but she had begun to worry that he simply preferred to cloud his mind with dreamwine and hide from the world. _One misery at a time._

“Dress me, then,” she commanded her handmaiden. Her tone was flat, almost angry, though it wasn’t the girl’s fault. Irri felt so many things so strongly that she couldn’t begin to sort it all out. She simply let it crush her, like a slab of granite pressing down on her chest, from the moment she woke up and remembered watching Daenerys Targaryen’s headless body fall to the ground and cover her in a fountain of blood. She remembered the man, and the crowd, and the scythe. She remembered crawling desperately toward her slain _Khaleesi_ to stop the bleeding from the stump of her neck, as if that would help. She remembered clinging to the body as the guards tore her away, shrieking, commanding them to let her die as well.

But Daenerys had nearly murdered her, and worse. Was this not justice? Should she not be thanking the gods? Celebrating?

Irri cursed herself for those thoughts. For all her flaws, Daenerys loved her more deeply than she had ever thought possible. She raised her from a slave to a Queen. She brought Jon into her life, and nurtured their love for each other. She rescued millions from the most terrible fates imaginable. _You’re naught but a selfish whore,_ she berated herself. _You swore to let her use you as she pleased, yet you condemn her for doing precisely that? Your life was hers to take that night, yet you begrudge her your thanks for sparing you? Everything she did to you was her right as your Queen! You deserved so much worse!_

But that felt wrong, too. No one should treat anyone like that, birth or vows or lust aside. Dany would have said the same, when she wasn’t utterly consumed by her madness. _It wasn’t her, it was the madness. She couldn’t help herself. And that madness is what purged the world of far worse._ Irri wondered why she needed so badly to make excuses for her. _This is what a captive says when he’s gone mad himself._

In truth, she felt much like a captive. Without Daenerys, and with Jon still recovering, Irri was utterly lost. Her life had collapsed, and she hadn’t the slightest notion how to rebuild it. _Jon. It should start with him. I must give him an heir. Two, at least. Or I’ll be remembered as the barren slut who let the blood of the Dragon vanish from the world._ But she was in no mood to let any man plant his seed in her. She wanted to hide from everyone and sleep until she could wake up to Dany’s soft kisses on her cheek, even if that meant she would not wake up.

What bothered her most was how little the Dragon Queen’s death accomplished. It freed no slaves, vanquished no armies, and saved no innocents. One minute she was speaking to one of her beloved subjects, then she screamed, then her head left her neck. No rubies scattered in a river; no epic battle raged around her. In the end, she was a lifeless pile of flesh hitting a shit-covered street like a side of beef that had fallen from a cart. Her death was no more noble than the dozens of drunk fools who died like that on the streets of King’s Landing every year, squabbling over some tavern wench.

Irri ruled the Seven Kingdoms in name, but for all it mattered, she may as well have let Tyrion wear her crown. To stop the Realm from plunging into chaos, he’d put soldiers on nearly every corner in King’s Landing to enforce a strict sundown curfew with on-the-spot beheadings. Any lordling who had ever shown the faintest hint of ambition had soldiers camped within view of his walls, with the promise of thousands more if they made any move to disturb the peace. Dany’s dragons circled the city, landing on rooftops and screaming, roaring, launching flames into the air. It helped keep order, though no one knew if or when their restlessness would turn to rage that their mother was gone. It was a terrifying and expensive way to keep the peace, which Irri supposed should trouble her as a Queen, but she was simply too numb to care.

She snapped out of her own head to find herself somehow clothed, with Qezza and Missandei ushering her toward the Throne Room like a walking corpse. _The trial. Oh, gods, please, not the trial._ But her last god died three days ago.

Irri presided over this farce from the Iron Throne, playing at being a Queen, certain that some band of rebel lords would burst in at any moment and slaughter her for defiling Dany’s chair with her baseborn brown ass. Half of her wished they’d be quicker about it. Sitting on either side of her were Tyrion and Davos, listening as Lady Martell questioned the captain of the _Lord Harlaw_ in the witness box. Irri did her best not to look, but she could not escape the unrelenting, icy gaze of the nameless accused, chained and heavily guarded at the base of the steps.

There had been so many witnesses that the man was plainly guilty, but Tyrion insisted that Daenerys would have wanted to give him a fair trial. Irri could not bring herself to tell him why he shouldn’t be so certain. So here she sat, well after the questions turned from whether this man had cut down the Mother of Dragons, to why he did it, and who put him up to it. Irri desperately hoped they'd never find out.

The captain was as Ironborn as they got. Grizzled, gruff, and stupid. But the accused had been an oarsman on his ship, and though the captain knew next to nothing, that was more than anyone else.

“You’re saying he kept entirely to himself? He had no friends?” Lady Arianne asked, annoyed. Every witness had told the same story in the three days since Daenerys was murdered, and it was starting to wear on the Dornishwoman.

“Hard to make friends when you’re missing a tongue, m’lady,” the captain replied. _That was the point._

“And how did he lose his tongue?” Arianne asked, plainly frustrated. _He doesn’t know, m’lady._

“I don’t know, m’lady,” the captain replied. “He came to me like that. I reckoned it was the Crow’s Eye’s doing. Never thought much of it.”

“And he'd caused no trouble before?”

“No, m’lady. Kept to himself, did his job, never bothered nobody.”

Tyrion shot a look at Davos. The Onion Lord simply shrugged.

“So you can’t think of any reason why he would do this? Anyone who could have persuaded him?”

“I’m sorry, m’lady, I just--”

“It’s alright,” Davos cut him off. “Thank you, captain. You’re free to go.”

 _I could pull Tyrion aside and end this now._ But that was easy to say and much harder to do. She did not doubt Tyrion’s loyalty to the Realm, but the man loved wine and whores too much to be trusted with a secret that could erase Daenerys’s greatness from her people's memory, and raise the question of whether anyone who would marry such a vile woman was fit to rule.

But it wasn’t fear of losing a crown she never sought that made it so hard. The shame was far more crippling than anything. Shame at what Dany had done, and at herself for marrying her anyway. _You’re just as bad as she was._ Shame that her love for the Queen and for the trappings of power kept her silent for so long. _And you’re a spoiled cunt, at that._ Shame for not warning Jon before he succumbed to that same love. _She could have maimed him just as easily, and you did nothing._

And shame that she let it all happen to begin with.

She’d told herself many times that was absurd, though it did little and less to help. The woman who professed to love her had put a spear to this man’s back and made him rape her for an evening’s entertainment. How was that her fault? _But if I was to simply lay there and take it, is that all I'm good for?_ Maybe it was. _No_ , she insisted. Dany in her better moments had taught her better than that. _But maybe she was wrong._

Missandei approached and bent down to her ear. “Next is the captain of the _Prince Rhaegar,_ Your Grace,” she announced. _No, no, no._ If it came out who had removed the man’s tongue, the question would turn to what Irri knew, and why she hadn't spoken up sooner. _That could mean my head._ “He was the--”

Irri had no choice but to put a stop to it. “Enough!” She declared, loudly and with an uncharacteristic firmness. “I can't bear any more of this! The moon of my life is dead, and long before her time.” Her voice began to quiver as she pointed. “This man murdered her, because he’s mad, and that's what madmen do. That’s the end of it. I cannot sit here and recall the worst day of my life over and over again. There is no conspiracy.” She looked straight at the _Prince Rhaegar_ ’s captain. “Anyone who suggests otherwise will be named a traitor and executed for sowing discord in the Realm.” She paused, exhaled, and turned to the two Hands beside her. “Do you have any doubt this man is guilty?”

“No, Your Grace,” they responded in startled unison. _Good._ Irri prayed that would be the end of it. It wasn’t untrue, after all; he had almost certainly acted alone. _Does it matter what drove him to his madness?_

For the first time since the trial began, she looked the oarsman in the eye. “Then I, Irri of the House Targaryen, the First of my Name, _Khaleesi_ of the Great Grass Sea, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros and Protector of the Realm, find you guilty of high treason and the murder of my wife, Her Grace Queen Daenerys, the Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons, and do hereby sentence you to die.” Irri exhaled again and her heart began to race, her sigh tinged with fear as the oarsman continued to stare her down. She addressed the Queensguard standing behind him as a nauseous, dizzy feeling overtook her. “Confine him to an oubliette. He will be burned alive tomorrow on Her Grace’s funeral pyre.”

Irri stormed out of the room without waiting for the Queensguard to acknowledge her. She sprinted back to her bedchamber, staggered past a sleeping Jon into the privy, then fell to her knees, and vomited. Her crown having fallen into the privy, and her body too weak to retrieve it, she curled up on the floor, sobbing and heaving. _I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t do this._

She held her stomach, as it refused to unclench itself. Qezza found her writhing and wailing, and screamed for the guards, thinking the Queen had been stabbed. _Is this the last bit of cruelty Daenerys meant to inflict on me? To leave me to rule a land I have no business ruling? To force me to carry her secret for the rest of my life? To have me execute one man and threaten another with the same, all to clean up her mess? To forever dread the day that captain decides to sell his story to pay some gambling debt?_

She found herself being yanked up to her feet by two Unsullied, and set down in a chair by the brazier. One guard unsheathed a dagger. _Is she having my tongue, too?_ ‘She’ couldn’t, of course. ‘She’ was dead.

The guard cut down the front of her dress, to let her breathe and to stop the cold sweat she’d broken into. Missandei appeared from nowhere and tossed her a linen nightshirt, a grave expression on her face. Samwell Tarly entered as well, feeling her face and counting her heartbeats as Qezza wiped the vomit from around her mouth.

Behind Sam’s ample frame, Irri spotted a pair of stubby legs push themselves up into the chair opposite hers. _I'm not even dead yet, and the crows are already circling._

“I'm grieving, Samwell. That's all,” she lied. She waved him away, composing herself as much as one could whilst wiping snot-laced vomit onto the back of one’s hand. “Let me speak with Lord Tyrion, but don’t leave. Missandei, you stay as well.”

Sam and Missandei bowed and sat next to each other at the table. Qezza handed her a new handkerchief, as Irri did her best to cobble together some semblance of a regal bearing.

“Ah, snot-vomit,” the Hand started, while the nightshirt still covered her face but not her tits. _Quite the regal bearing._ “The most enchanting mixture of bodily fluids.”

Irri knew he only meant to lift her spirits, but she was in no mood for japes. She sighed. “What would you have of me?”

“What would you have of me, Your Grace?” He countered. “I’m a Hand without a Queen, and I sense you could use a bit of help.” Missandei eyed him, affronted. “You grieve for Daenerys more than I could imagine, I’m certain. But half the high lords think us weak, and high lords are not a sympathetic lot. You put on a brave face at court, but it’s plain you still feel lost and scared.”

“Of course she’s lost and scared,” Missandei countered from the table. “Were you not lost and scared when your father first left you here to rule? And you came from a great House. Not a year ago, Her Grace was pouring wine and emptying chamber pots. Now she rules a strange Realm in the midst of great turmoil. Do not belittle her for being afraid.” _Can we at least burn her body before we tear her Realm apart?_

Tyrion turned to Irri, offering himself for a dressing down, but she spared him.

“He’s not belittling me. He speaks the truth,” she warned Missandei. “And we can’t feud like this, you know that.” The Easterners always had a tense relationship with Tyrion. They respected him and knew he meant well, but he'd been born too wealthy and from too great a House to stop himself from sounding like an arrogant shit some times, and too smart to know what he didn't know. Irri looked over to Jon, still sleeping, blind and deaf to the world. Tyrion followed suit, then looked back to her. An uncomfortably long silence fell over the room. Irri could sense he was choosing his words carefully, and it made her curious what he’d come up with.

“You're right to trust Jon, Your Grace,” he finally continued. “He's beloved from Dorne to the Wall. He's a fine ruler, and an even finer man. But he's also _just_ a man. And only fools think noble men always die noble deaths. You know that all too well, now. He could fall off a horse, or take ill with some wasting sickness, or lose his own head to some madman. He could--”

“Please don't say these things.” Irri simply could not bear it. “I can't spend my life fearing for my husband.”

“No. You can't. But the only way to free yourself from that fear is to know you can rule in your own right. You should learn from Jon. And in the beginning, you should defer to him on matters of war, and the North, and things you know nothing about.”

She rolled her eyes. “So, everything, then.”

“No, no, that’s not true,” Tyrion tried to reassure her, though it took him a moment to come up with something. “You know more about horses,” he managed to pull from his ass. “Jon just rides them until they die, then he gets another. I don’t think he even knows where they come from.”

Irri cracked a sad, exhausted smile.

“And food. You know far more about food. The man wouldn't know flavor if it got him with child.”

She grudgingly let the smile linger.

Tyrion smiled back. “And anything that requires talking to a woman.”

The smile turned into a soft laugh. _Damn you, I was enjoying the misery._

Tyrion’s face grew more serious. “But one thing you can't learn from anyone is how to show the Realm your strength. And you _must_ know how to do that. Every lord in Westeros with a maiden daughter wants you dead. And if Jon were to die without an heir, every lord in Westeros with an unwed son will want you to spread your legs for him. Only two things will stop them from burning this country down: love of Jon, and failing that, fear of you.”

 _Was Bronn not enough?_ “When Daenerys crowned me, she--”

“That was about her, not you. Respectfully, Your Grace, all you did was tip a pot over.”

Missandei got restless again. Irri put a hand up to silence her, and kept listening.

“Daenerys put on one of her mummer’s shows,” he went on, “complete with dragons, and surprise murders, and grand proclamations that this ancient custom or that one was no longer of use to her. We all loved her for those, but they’re over now.”

Irri felt herself choke up again. It sounded so final, and Tyrion was so blunt about it. _But it’s true._

“The Realm knows Jon. They don’t know you. They don’t know what you’ll do without Daenerys to protect you. When you speak at her funeral, they will be taking your measure. You must speak well, and show them you deserve to be there.”

 _I’d prefer another surprise murder._ As a child, she’d had it beaten into her to speak softly and deferentially; even more so when she spoke the Common Tongue. She had gotten better at speaking with authority, but she’d always had Daenerys there to encourage her. The oarsman’s trial was the first time she did it alone, and that ended in snot-vomit. With every word Tyrion said, the hole inside her grew. She sighed.

“I know,” said Tyrion, as if he could read her thoughts. “I’ll help you with it.”

“And Missandei will help you. If I’m to speak, I must speak with my own voice, and she knows it best.” If left to Tyrion alone, she would sound like a short brown girl pretending to be Tywin Lannister, when what she needed was to sound like Tywin Lannister pretending to be a short brown girl.

Before either of them could respond, Irri spotted Jon stirring in bed.

 _These fools can wait._ “Leave me,” she stood and waved in their general direction, not bothering to look away from her King.

Tyrion, Missandei, and Sam all stood. Irri pointed at the Grand Maester. “Not you.”

Sam remained standing while the others took their leave. Irri regarded him. Her look seemed to catch him by surprise. Jon’s eyes stayed closed, but his body grew ever more restless.

“He ate some cheese yesterday, Your Grace,” Sam announced, sheepishly.

 _‘He ate some cheese.’ That’s meant to comfort me?_ Irri barely acknowledged him, and pulled a chair up to the side of the bed.

“He’s resting, Your Grace.” Sam moved toward her. “I wouldn’t--”

“ _Sit._ ” Irri’s eyes locked with his and dragged his plump ass back down to his seat. She turned to Jon, kissed his forehead and stroked his hair. _How long do you think you can do this? Do you think the Realm sleeps when you do?_

“What time is it?” Jon asked once he opened his eyes.

“Late, my love. You missed the trial.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Bugger.” _Bugger your ‘bugger.’ We both know you meant to sleep through it._

Irri wasted no time with coddling him. “Jon, you must get out of bed. I need you. I can’t do this alone.”

“And I need you.” _At least you know that much._

She turned back to Sam. “Water.” Sam found a flagon, poured a cup, and handed it to her.

Irri turned back to Jon. “Sit up, my love.” She tugged at him.

He grimaced, annoyed that someone had the gall to ask him to do something.

“Stop. Sit up.” She handed him the cup as soon as he was upright. “Drink. It will cleanse you.” Jon did as he was bid, too exhausted to argue. Irri lifted the flagon of dreamwine on his bedside table. “You don't need any of this, do you?”

Jon shrugged, looking to Sam, hoping he would say something.

“You don’t,” she answered for him, “but you let Sam give it to you anyway.” She turned and shot daggers at Sam. Neither he nor Jon spoke a word.

Irri picked Jon’s chamber pot from under the bed, and emptied the flagon into it. “No more. You cannot do that to me.” Jon paused and exhaled. She put he flagon down firmly and turned to Sam, who looked ashamed. _You should be._ She handed him the chamber pot. “Empty this.”

“But Your Grace--”

“Empty it. Now. Toss it out the window, or drink it.” Sam nodded and moved toward the window. Irri turned back to Jon. “No more dreamwine. Do you hear me?!”

“Yes, I hear you!” He was grumpy, like a child. _We’ll fix your tone later, boy._ The thought surprised her. _I’m not ready for that,_ she assumed, for no particular reason.

Irri turned back to Sam. “You’re his friend, and a maester. You of all people should know better.” She tossed the empty flagon of dreamwine at his feet. “One more drop without my leave, and I’ll name you a traitor for poisoning the King. Understood?”

Sam looked like he was about to say something, but thought the better of it. “Y--Yes, Your Grace. Please, forgive me.”

 _Only because I’m too tired not to._ “Go."

Sam bowed and left. Irri turned back to Jon. “And when will His Grace deign to say more than four words to his grieving wife?”

His Grace’s eyes showed the same agony that had gripped him since he first woke the night of the murder. _Don’t you see that in me as well?_

“I would die without you,” Irri pleaded. “I don’t mean ‘I love you so much that I would die of a broken heart if you left me.’ I mean if you can no longer rule, _men will storm this castle and kill me._ Do you understand that? I _need_ you to be fit to rule. I need to learn from you.”

“I know. I’m sorry, truly. I won’t leave you to do this alone,” Jon promised. “You deserve the man I was three days ago, and I haven’t been that man. That's my fault. This has been harder than I thought.”

 _Yes, naps are so hard_. But he at least apologized, so she gave him credit for that much and kissed his forehead again. “You’ve faced things much worse than grief before, and you’ve beaten them.”

“That’s true. But I still miss her,” Jon said softly. “I miss her love.”

Irri took his meaning. She expected to agree without question, but the words didn’t come out.

Jon sensed the hesitation. “Is something wrong?” _I don’t know, is it?_

“No.” She gazed at him, silently, until something finally did come out. “Before you met her, did you ever want someone to love you like that?”

“Yes,” Jon said after some thought. “I didn’t know it, but yes. So many things make so much more sense to me, now.”

“I never wanted it,” Irri found herself blurting out. “I loved it because I loved _her._ But I’ve known true surrender in my life, and I never want to know it again.” She’d always told herself that, but understood it merely as a sign of how deeply she loved her Queen. But her Queen was gone. _Never mind what that says about Daenerys,_ she told herself. _What does it say about you?_ Suddenly, a few things made more sense to her as well. She felt as if something inside her was finally at peace.

“I would never ask you to do that for me, you know,” Jon told her.

“Oh, I know.” Irri had never worried that Jon would suddenly want to chain her to the ceiling and beat her, but her tone carried a certainty she hadn’t anticipated. She realized her mouth had started to water.

Jon blushed, and smiled for the first time in three days. _It’s too soon to remember how beautiful you are._ She poured him another cup of water, slowly finding it more important that this man be fully awake.

“You know I never wanted this bloody crown,” he reminded her as he took a sip. “I hate this game. You can't be a person. You have to convince everyone of the lie that you're more than that. With Dany, if I was scared, or angry, or hurt, she took me as I was. I could admit to not knowing everything, I could pity myself, and doubt myself. And she just helped me through it.”

Irri tipped the cup back. “Drink faster.”

Another fleeting but unmistakably sly smile darted across his face as he finished his cup and poured himself another. “For all the cruel things she did, she never once failed me.” _Lucky you._ He must have sensed Irri’s resentment. “I know she was not always as good to you,” he backtracked. “But you made her into the woman I fell in love with. I owe so much to you.”

His words touched her, but she was still uncertain what to do next.

Jon took a breath. “I need that, my love.”

 _Now it’s all laid bare._ Not that she was surprised. She enjoyed the games Dany let her play with him, but they were never more than games. _This is no game, though._ She could tell by the look in his eyes.

“Are you asking that of me?”

“I suppose you’d be the one to ask,” he smiled his stupid, infuriatingly gorgeous half-smile, “but I can’t bring myself to ask it." _You just did._  "You’ve played the games, but I don't know if that's--you’re not--” He stopped suddenly. _She was right, this boy does think too much._

“I’m not Daenerys, and I never will be.” Irri finished for him.

Jon paused, searching for a way out of a hole he hadn't even dug. “I’m sorry, I should not have said it like that.”

“Yes, you should have.” She stopped him. “I’m not her, and I will never pretend to be. If you want Dany again, there are a thousand whores in this city with silver wigs. I am myself, and I will only ever be myself.”

“I know, and I love you for that. But Dany--”

“Was half mad. We must not hide from that. Her madness freed millions and saved this world, but she made many, many mistakes.” _He doesn’t know all of them_ , she had to remind herself, _but don’t trouble him with that._

Irri reached under the covers to find him naked. She grabbed his cock and felt it in her hand. It was soft, from grief and dreamwine. “She treated you so well because she feared you. She feared what would happen to the Realm if she pushed you too far.”

Jon nodded.

Irri had seen him with Dany enough to know the sort of words and the tone of voice he wanted to hear, and if it would bring her King back, she’d play the part. She caught his eyes, and squeezed his manhood tightly. “ _I don’t fear you._ ”

That surprised him. She felt him stir, which made her stir as well. Suddenly her heart sped up. _I do need this_.

“I don’t have the beasts inside me that she had,” she told him as she began to stroke. _Where is this coming from?_ It was coming more easily than it ever had with Dany, and all she wanted was more. _More._ “I will push you as hard as she ever did,” she declared, uncertain how she’d do it, but not doubting herself in the least. His cock grew quickly and hardened in her hand. She tugged it toward her and held it there. “But I will _always_ pull you back when it’s time.” She stopped stroking and let the desperation build in him. “And when you learn to trust me in that,” she explained, still not stroking, but teasing the head of his cock with her thumb, “then, bastard, you will learn _helplessness_.”

Jon closed his eyes, slowly allowing himself to succumb. _Yes, do that. Stop thinking, like she taught you. It’s my hand that matters, not this silly thing it’s holding._

“Daenerys named both of us as her heirs,” Irri reminded him, as she began to stroke again. “Everything that was hers must belong to one of us now. And you don’t belong to yourself, do you?”

“No…”

“No, not a man like you. You are mine to rule, now. Mine alone.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

 _That's someone else, not me._ She smacked him. “Her Grace is dead,” she reminded him, and herself. “You will not address me by a dead woman's title.” The word “dead” stuck in her mind. She wanted to beat it down to nothing, like the sweet boy before her.

“I’m sorry, _Khaleesi_.”

 _He learns quickly._ That made her wet. She thanked Dany silently for leaving her such a smart, docile boy. “Better. Do not make the same mistake twice.”

“I won’t, _Khaleesi._ ”

She handed him the flagon of water, still half full. “Drink.” Jon drank slowly, so as not to spill. “ _Drink._ ” He closed his eyes and gulped. “Better.”

Irri watched for a moment, to make certain he was drinking quickly enough, and without spilling. “If you ever decide you don’t want this, say the word and I’ll stop. But I love you, and I think I may need this as much as you do. Please do this for me.”

“You know you didn't have to ask, _Khaleesi._ ”

“Of course not.” Irri smiled as she stood, snapped her fingers, and pointed to the spot on the floor beneath the manacles that still dangled from the ceiling just as Dany had left them. Ever the good boy, Jon rose and sat at the side of the bed, his feet barely touching the ground. He looked up at Irri, uncertain if his ankle could support his weight.

Irri grabbed a pillow and tossed it on the floor where he was to kneel. “I’ll help you.” She reached under his arms.

“I should piss first. That was a lot of water.” He looked at her gingerly, uncertain how to properly broach the subject.

 _I will teach you, my love._ She found his chamber pot and let him piss to his heart’s content. When he was done, she helped him stand and walk, and held him patiently as he slid down to his knees and positioned his injured foot on the pillow, looking up at her when he knew he was comfortable.

She took Dany’s whip from its drawer, neatly and precisely coiled, just as Her Grace had always insisted upon leaving it. A pang of grief and guilt and fear washed over her. _She would want you to do this. She would be wroth with you if you didn’t. Silly girl._

“You’ve knelt here before,” she said, once she’d returned, “but as you said, with me it was a game. Her game, because we were hers to play with. But we are not hers now, and this is no game. I love you too much for that. Pledge me your service.” She extended the hand that held the whip. “Kiss.”

He obeyed. Jon had never kissed her insincerely, and Irri suspected she had this Eddard fellow to thank for that. But there was a solemnity to the way his lips lingered on her skin that she'd never felt from anyone before. They pressed firmly, but there was no lust, no hunger to move on to the parts of her she knew he wanted more. _I told him to pledge, so he's pledging._ She could grow accustomed to that.

Irri flipped her hand and opened it, her palm facing the ceiling, holding the handle of the whip in place with her soft, tiny thumb. “Kiss the whip that lashes you.”

A wanton look flashed in Jon’s eyes, betraying the lust for a merciless beating that he’d so far only hinted at. _She was right, you are a little slut, aren’t you?_ Irri smiled down, promising ample wantonness shortly.

She closed her fist and pointed to the floor with her other hand. Jon knew what that meant. He put his palms on the floor, lowered his nose, and softly kissed the tops of her feet. Irri had always wondered what it was about a man’s kisses on her feet that ignited such lust in her. Was her body simply built that way? Or was it the meaning of the gesture? _Both,_ she decided, at least for herself.

Jon’s muscles were still quite firm despite his three days abed, and the sight of his back and biceps flexing to hold his weight in place made her understand why Daenerys took such pleasure in seeing men in that position. A man’s body was built for strength. To lift, to throw, to run, to fight. _And to murder, and rape, and throw others in chains._ Even with his twisted ankle, Jon could still easily subdue her if he truly wanted to. But he didn’t. What he truly wanted-- _all_ he truly wanted--was to put that strength at her disposal. To toil for her, to humble himself, to suffer for her pleasure, to do her bidding. _Would that every man in the world could fit in this room._ With that, the nightshirt was gone.

Irri flexed her toes under his chin, lifting his eyes to hers. _I said pledge yourself, and I have yet to hear the words._

“I’m yours to command, _Khaleesi._ ” Jon knew how to read a woman’s eyes. “Yours alone. I will rule with you. I will protect you from anyone who would do you harm. I will serve and obey you until the end of my days. I will forsake my own pleasure for yours, and should I fail, I will suffer as you see fit.”

“And you will love me.” _Or the rest means nothing._

“I will _always_ love you.”

She extended her hand again, this time gripping the King’s forearm to help him off his knees. Jon looked at the manacles nervously.

“I won’t hurt you. Not your ankle. Do you trust me?”

Jon nodded, and complied eagerly as she affixed the manacles and suspended him just as Dany used to do, so his feet just barely touched the ground.

Irri paced slowly around him and admired his body again. Had she not known he’d been abed and miserable for three days, she would have guessed he’d just gotten back from training in the yard. Every muscle was sculpted perfectly; lean but powerful. _And gods be good, that ass._ She wanted to throw a coin at it to see if it would bounce right back into her hand.

“First, sweet boy,” Irri began as she took her position behind him, “we must address how you speak to me.” She uncoiled the whip, and cracked it against the floor. “I asked you a question earlier, and you spoke me harshly, like I’m some bothersome serving girl.” She lashed him firmly. “Do you remember?”

“I do, _Khaleesi._ I’m sorry.” _I promised I’d fix your tone, didn't I?_

She gave him another lash, this time with her backhand. “I forbade you dreamwine because you were poisoning yourself with it. I can't bear to lose you too.” Her rage at the notion that he'd do such a thing made her lash him again, harder than she planned. That scared her. _It should._ She took a breath and collected herself, then continued.

“You have many reasons to be angry with the world,” she continued. “But you will _never_ take out your anger at others on me.”

“Yes, _Khaleesi._ ” He winced as the whip stung his back once more, not quite as hard this time. “I'm sorry, _Khaleesi._ ” She paused, measuring his reaction. _He can take it. Good._

“I promise the same,” she resumed. “You don't deserve to suffer for the sins of others.” She lashed him again, harder this time, but more carefully measured. “Only your own.”

Jon growled softly, as he did when his arousal overpowered him. Irri took that as a good sign.

“It will be ten for the insolence earlier.” _That sounds reasonable,_ she supposed. “Next time it will be twenty. More than that, when we’ve finished grieving.” Jon nodded and grunted as she gave him another lash. “ _Count!_ ”

He counted off and thanked her for each lash. Each “thank you, _Khaleesi_ ” was more fervent than the last. He was basking in it. She could see the boulder of misery on his back break apart each time the whip struck him; his burden lighter and his posture stronger with every lash. _Daenerys had it backwards. This is for him more than me._ But that didn’t stop her from relishing it.

 _I’m no longer borrowing him. He’s mine, to mold as I like._ With every ounce of the burden she took away came a new rule. He would no longer dress like a beggar when he was alone with her. He would eat fruit and fish two nights for every one night he ate steak. He would train at swords six days each week, whether he needed to or not. He would drop to his knees the moment they were alone together, and pleasure her unless commanded not to. He could piss all he pleased, but would ask first if he knew she meant to have his body soon. She alone would decide when and where and how he’d spill his seed, but she would allow it at least once every week. _For now._

She made him recite the whole list each time she added a new rule, so he would not forget. When he made his first mistake, she gave him the choice of another lash or a night without release. He chose the lash, and made no further mistakes.

Irri could see why Dany lusted so much for the thrill of hurting someone. It was power in its purest form; conquest and subjugation, undiluted by the demands of millions of others and the constraints of custom and politics. But Dany was a conqueror. It was in her blood. Irri was never like that, but she could still sense that she would never go back to what she was.

For her, the beauty of this kind of power was the simplicity it brought. With Jon, she would never again have to dance around what she wanted, or fear asking too much, or accept his refusal to even try to fix his shortcomings as the price of love. She would never have to trick him into being a better man; only to give him the command and help him summon the strength to obey her.

She unchained him when it was over, letting him hold her to steady himself, softly stroking his back. _He needs this part as much as he needed the rest._ “Are you hurt, my love?”

“Yes. Thank you, _Khaleesi,_ ” he replied as he caught his breath, limping with her toward the bed. “Truly.”

“You needed it, didn’t you?”

“I needed to feel something that wasn’t grief. You made me feel like a man again.”

That was agonizingly beautiful. “You _are_ a man. Some say you’re the finest man to ever live.” She looked up. “So _fuck me_ and prove it.”

Neither of them could be bothered with mouths or fingers. Jon pushed Irri back onto the bed, and guided his cock into her. They kissed like they were about to devour each other. Irri dug her nails into Jon’s back and dragged them downward. The pain as they tore across the welts on his skin only sent him deeper into madness.

She hadn’t meant to hurt him, and for half a heartbeat thought about loosening her grip. But she couldn’t. She needed to feel someone inside her, to remember she was alive as well. They did their best to fuck it all away. They fucked for Daenerys. Because of her. In spite of her. They fucked to please her, to celebrate her, and to forget her. They fucked to console each other, to use each other to console themselves, and to gird each other for the life they were about to face with no one else to rely upon. They fucked as husband and wife, mistress and slave, Queen and King. Every one of his thrusts sent Irri’s eyes back in her head, and her thoughts all melted into a blur.

She suddenly realized she was crying. Jon had a tear on his cheek as well, but Irri was an utter mess. The sight of her made him hesitate. _Don’t stop. The only way you can hurt me is if you fucking stop._ She thumped her heels against his back to make that clear, and saw any qualms about ravaging a sobbing woman vanish from his mind. Jon was clearly struggling to shut out the pain in his back and ankle, but the part of her that cared was lost in the cacophony of moans and grunts and heavy breath. The tears began to blind her, and soon it was all she could do to close her eyes and feel him; his lips on hers, and the taste of lust and hunger and grief.

Jon growled again, louder and closer to her ear. _Daenerys was not the last Dragon_ , that reminded her. Sometimes she forgot about Jon. He would never hurt her, she was almost certain, but her cunt soaked itself from the terror of knowing he could. _I must be careful with him._

The next thought overwhelmed her. _He IS the last Dragon now, and he knows it. And Daenerys was with child when she died._ Suddenly she felt terrible for being so impatient with him. Irri had suffered her share of loss, but never a child. She wondered if Jon had even brought himself to think of that, but decided it wasn’t her place to ask. _I must give him what Dany couldn’t._ Giving him that meant giving him her womb, so she offered it to him, and he took it.

Afterward, they lay together for what must have been hours. At first, Jon seemed afraid to speak, but Irri refused to allow that. She asked again if he was hurt. If he was satisfied. If she had pushed him too hard, or not hard enough. She told him not to blame himself for what happened their Queen; for urging her to go to the docks, and letting her stray from his protection. That he _must_ not think such things, for his own sake, and hers, and the Realm’s. She told him how badly she needed his love, and his counsel, and his beautiful, incomparable strength. That he was the finest King and the finest man the Realm had ever known. That he’d made the world a better place, and her a better person, and that he wasn’t done.

They cried, and comforted each other. They thanked the Mother of Dragons for bringing them together. For showing them what they were, and how they loved, and that their love was as strong and pure and right as anyone else’s. They thanked her for changing them in the ways they needed changing, and for showing them what they could be when they were at their best. They thanked her for enslaving them to her, and for using their enslavement to set them on the path to a greater freedom, from the prison of other men’s lies about what they were and what they should be. They promised her the child she’d so desperately wanted. They professed their devotion to each other, and to Dany’s memory, and vowed to finish the work she’d begun, on themselves, and the world.

Missandei and Tyrion came that evening to find Jon dressed and out of bed, eating a proper meal. No one said it, but they knew then that the Realm would hold. The three of them worked on her speech all night until they could barely keep their eyes open, and again in the morning. Irri practiced, and practiced, and practiced, until she could speak the words without thinking. And then it was time to do what they all dreaded, but what Irri knew must be done.

As they left, Irri pulled Missandei into a corner, away from everyone, Jon included. “The _Prince Rhaegar_ will be set upon by pirates,” she whispered.

Missandei looked at her, confused. “I don’t understand, Your Grace.”

“The captain will die defending it.” Irri’s eyes grew steely, daring her Hand to ask why.

Missandei was smarter than that. “As you say.” That was the last she ever meant to speak of it.

A light rain began to fall as she stood with Jon at a smoke-stained pulpit in the roofless, half-rebuilt shrine that used to be the Sept of Baelor. Next to them lay Daenerys Targaryen on her pyre, her red and black tunic fixed tightly around her neck to hide the stitching that held her head in place. _She looks almost as she should._ Tied to a stake behind her was the oarsman, stone-faced and staring daggers at Irri every chance he got, unrelenting in his silent, motionless hate. This time, she denied him the satisfaction of averting her eyes.

The high lords sat in a half-circle around the body. Behind them were Freedmen, Bloodriders, and others who had been with her since she was still half a child. Some stood vacantly, like walking corpses, lost and shattered. Some cried. Irri wished she could be one of them. Courtiers and lesser nobles spilled out onto the steps and into the plaza, where thousands of smallfolk had gathered to watch the smoke. _How many will rejoice when they see it?_ She wondered. _How many because they think me weak enough to topple in a fortnight?_

Dragons circled overhead, distraught. Irri was grateful that they kept the peace, but dreaded what they would do when they saw their mother burn. Goldcloaks, Unsullied, and Queensguard were everywhere, to prevent chaos from breaking out when people realized Daenerys was truly gone.

Jon looked up at the darkening clouds in the afternoon sky. “We should get on with it, before the pyre gets too wet.” Irri nodded, saving her words for the speech.

Jon stepped forward and addressed the nobles, leaning on a cane, grimacing when he put too much weight on his ankle. Some of the lords murmured. He let them, because he knew his words would shame them into silence. The King spoke freely, sincerely, and with no plan, but it made no matter. Only Jon could tell the stories he did. Nearly all who had witnessed it with him were dead. Hordes of dead men bathed in fire, blazing swords, prophets and weirwood trees and secret promises from Eddard Stark. It made Irri feel small. _I knew how to spice her wine and lick her cunt, surely that counts for something, no?_

With the lords duly shamed, Jon stepped back. All eyes turned to Irri, filling her with a sudden and unexpected terror. She bit the inside of her cheek to sweep it all out of her mind and stepped up to the railing. She made the mistake of looking at Tyrion in the front row, desperate to find some reassurance in his eyes. _‘Don’t bugger this up, or we’re all dead,’_ was all he had for her.

The railing was high, and she worried she looked half a child compared to Jon. _Too late now. Go._ “Daenerys Targaryen is gone, and we shall never see her like again,” she began, her voice maddeningly soft and sweet. “It is known.”

She included the Dothraki phrase at Missandei’s suggestion, to show the nobles that she was not ashamed of who she was. Her Hand also had her make a point of pronouncing Dany’s name in proper High Valyrian, “ _Die_ -nay-rees,” not “Duh- _neh_ -riss,” as they called her in the Common Tongue. “These men will claim to be cut from the same cloth as her, but she was never their creature,” her Hand advised her. “She came into her greatness in the East. You witnessed that yourself. They didn’t. Do not let them forget.”

The silence hung uncomfortably long, as if she had revealed her Dothrakiness for the first time. “It is also known that there are men here who question why I, of all people, stand before you.” _Again, why lie?_ “Men who want my crown, and the rest of my head with it.” She was uncertain who she meant, but certain she spied at least one of them in the crowd.

“I stand here because the Mother of Dragons willed it. Because I loved her. Before the dragons, before the conquests, and before the War for Dawn, when she was still her brother’s to trade like a horse. I cared for her when she nearly died in the birthing bed, and I comforted her when she woke to learn her child had never lived.” _None of you grasping little shits can say that._ “I’ve suffered with her. I’ve suffered _for_ her. I’ve suffered _because_ of her. And now, I suffer without her. I am here because I stood up against the Dragon inside her, and unlike so many, I lived, and she loved me for it.”

She paused. “All of us are here because Her Grace chose this for us. Because she allowed it. Because she commanded it. Because she fought an army of the dead to make it so. Because our choice was to ride or march or sail with her and risk death, or to stay where we were and ensure it. Because she led us across deserts and seas and a frozen hell. Because she wanted to better this world, and because she demanded we better ourselves.”

“We will never repay our debt to her, but she would not want us to. She would say she did the least she could do with the gifts she'd been given. We will never capture her greatness in a speech, or a song, or a statue, and we should not try. Rather, she would have us turn our eyes to what's to come.”

“There is still a Realm to set to right. There are still chains to break, and injustice to wipe away. There are ancient feuds to put to rest, and wars to win for good and all.” _Yes, those wars. She wasn't the only one to know what it's like to be sold_. “There are still pretenders and pirates and traitors to vanquish; not only for my sake or your King’s, but for your own.”

“I may speak softly, in the accent of a strange people. I may be brown of skin and short of height, and I may be known to all of you as the handmaiden she fucked to pass the time on a ship.” _There, I said it._ “But she met all of you. She knew who amongst you are strong, or gallant, or from an ancient line. She could have married any of you, but she didn’t.”

“She chose _me._ She crowned me, and proclaimed me her heir and consort in front of all of you. _I_ am the one her eunuchs follow now. _I_ am the one her dragons protect.” _I hope._ “ _I_ am _Khaleesi_ of the Great Grass Sea, and _I_ am Queen of these Seven Kingdoms. And if you worshipped her like you told her when she was alive; if you meant it when you swore yourselves to her service, then _I_ am your final act of service to her.” She sensed the crowd grow tense, but spotted Tyrion and Missandei nod at her to keep going.

“You have a choice, my lords. It’s the same choice you faced when Daenerys first came here to take what was hers. You can fight her will for you, and for this world, or you can submit--not because you feared her, but because you _trusted_ her. Because you trusted she would use the power you gave her to make your lives better, and because she kept her word.”

“I will not ask you to trust me so much until I’ve shown you why you should. And I know I must do much and more to show you. But until then, my lords, keep trusting  _her_. Trust that she would not put a fool or a whore or a tyrant on the Throne she worked so hard to win. And even if you mistrust her wisdom in crowning me, trust the one thing no one can deny about Daenerys Stormborn: that those who would thwart her shall die screaming. I pray I will never have to prove that to you, and I would beg you all pray with me. But I _promise_ you, my lords, I _will_ carry on that legacy if I must. Magic gave her the dragons, but there was no magic to how she took and kept what was hers. In Daenerys, you have lost a woman whom some of you loved and others hated, but who none of you denied was your rightful Queen. Now, you shall have another.”

The nobles shifted uncomfortably in their seats. _Good._ She looked at Tyrion and Missandei. _‘You’ve done well,’_ she smiled at them. They seemed to agree. She stepped from the pulpit and was promptly joined by two Queensguard as she approached the body and knelt next to it. Jon joined her but remained standing, to avoid the spectacle of being helped down and back up.

“You should not have done what you did to that man, but you know that now.” Irri whispered her farewell in Dothraki, because this was none of anyone’s concern, not even Jon’s. “And I forgive you for what you did to me. You rescued me from so much, and I hope that by the end I'd rescued you from the worst of your demons, whatever they were." She paused. "There are slaves in the Night Lands, too, _Khaleesi_. Free them, so there will be none but Jon and me when we join you.” She stroked the dead Queen’s silver hair and kissed her on the forehead, then stood, stepped back, and regarded her one last time.

“Burn her,” she told the guards, almost coldly. It caught everyone off guard, including Jon. But her only other choice was to sob like a madwoman and be dragged away, and she no longer had that luxury.

The guards looked at Jon, who nonetheless nodded his assent, and lit the torches. Irri could not bear to stay and watch her burn. _She will burn, though,_  something told her in her gut. She stood for a moment, until the oarsman began to twist violently but helplessly against the stake. _Why am I standing here? This is done, now._

The rain picked up, as if it had been waiting for the fire to catch. Before the flames could engulf her wife’s body, Irri stepped around the pyre and strode slowly, deliberately toward the door, through the center of the crowd as they went to one knee before her. She couldn’t be certain if it came from respect for Jon, or if her speech was that good, but it made no matter. _Keep doing that. There will be no more speeches to remind you._

She reached the steps and surveyed the mass of smallfolk in the plaza as she descended. They were surprised to see her, as the smoke had barely started to rise. Nonetheless, she decided to walk back to the Red Keep, silently, and alone save for her guards. When the Goldcloaks realized it, they flooded the street to keep the smallfolk well away from her. That made Irri sad, though she was no fool and understood the need. But walking back through the streets was a gesture of courage that she desperately needed to show, and she could not wait until someone counseled her to show it.

The crowd eyed her silently and uncertainly as she passed. None dared to move or shout, lest they draw the ire of the Goldcloaks. Irri kept her eyes directly in front of her, making no effort to acknowledge them, preferring to simply keep moving.  _I am not afraid to walk among you, but whether any of us like it or not, I am no longer one of you._  

Jon crept up behind her, doing his best to walk quickly. _No further_. She put a hand out for half a heartbeat, barely noticeable to anyone but him. He took her meaning and obeyed.

She needed him a step behind. He was a Targaryen. The kind with the blood of Valyria in his veins, and the seed of Valyria in his balls. And as much as she trusted him to never betray her, that still made him dangerous. If he walked abreast with her, they would always see him as the true King, and her as merely his dead wife’s handmaiden. Fair or not, she needed to be a step ahead to be called an equal, and the Realm would forever need reminding that they were, in fact, equals. _And he will need reminding that in all of those other, far more beautiful ways, we are most certainly not._

The Queen was basking in the silence, grateful for a few minutes alone with her thoughts, when part of her suddenly wanted nothing but to run back and kneel by the fire until the last ember burned out, though she knew the sight of Dany’s body burning would crush and horrify her.

 _‘If you look back, you are lost,’_ a voice told her, clear as day. _‘March on, sweetling. Heal. Rule.’_

Irri knew only one thing to say to that. _‘Yes,_ Khaleesi _.’_ She obeyed without question, and trained her eyes up Aegon’s High Hill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EPILOGUE: The Dangling Plotline
> 
> “You should try this delicious new kind of nut from Essos, my lord,” the handmaiden told Aegon. “It’s called a peanut.”
> 
> “That sounds great, I’ve always been an adventurous eater. Surely nothing can go wrong from eating this pea-nut you speak of.” He popped the nut into his mouth. _I CAN’T BREATHE!!_
> 
> “Oh, snap!” Shouted the handmaiden as Aegon’s face swelled up and he started choking. She ran out of the room. _Get help, bitch!_
> 
> But if help ever came, Aegon never knew it, because he went into anaphylactic shock and died shortly thereafter. No one cared, though, as Jon, Dany, and Irri were having tons of super hot threesomes by then.


	13. Awesome Irri Picture (Not Dirty)

Not an actual chapter, but [here’s an excellent rendition](https://imgur.com/a/ZdiNttG) of Irri, the First of her Name, courtesy [Neeco](https://www.neecobalt.com). This is freakishly close to what I envisioned her looking like. I don’t care if you were more interested in Jon and Dany. This is badass.


End file.
